


The Autumn Moon Is Bright

by Lhugy_for_short



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Happy Ending, Horror, Kinda historical-esque, M/M, Now With More Plot, References to Character Death, References to abuse/injuries, Romance, Still manages to be happier than the first one, Werewolf AU, references to noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-02-28 16:59:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13275882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lhugy_for_short/pseuds/Lhugy_for_short
Summary: Very few men can say they've survived the true fury of a werewolf attack, but Prompto isn't like most. He doesn't fear monsters, and he doesn't fear death. Not anymore.What he fears is watching, helpless, as the man he loves loses the last shred of his humanity.(Sequel toIn Sheep's Clothing)





	1. Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Well, friends. It took many moons, but here we are at last. A couple of notes before we get to it:
> 
> 1\. If you haven't read [In Sheep's Clothing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298162/chapters/25278099) you're gonna wanna start there. This won't make much sense otherwise.  
> 2\. You may have noticed in the tags, but this story is multiship for plot reasons. It is, however, a PROMPTIO-centric fic, with side Ignoct, so please keep that in mind while reading :)  
> 3\. The tags mention "Graphic depictions of violence" and references to other trigger warnings. While this story is romance/smut, there are still horror elements (particularly in flashbacks) so tread cautiously. To me, werewolves are monsters, and while the bros might all have cute fluffy tails and high sex drives most of the time, that all changes with the moon.  
> 4\. PLEASE leave feedback in the comment section - questions, liked it, hated it, just a :/ face - anything is fine! This fic is a work in progress and I could use ideas/suggestions about how to improve. So please don't be shy. I don't bite :3

>   _“Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.” - The Wolf Man, 1941_

* * *

 

 

The light that woke him was soft, a pale white-golden glow. He knew right away that it was neither the light of the morning sun by his open window, nor the light of embers burning in a dying hearthfire. This light was gentler, slowly coaxing him into consciousness and reminding him of…

Moonlight?

Prompto forced his eyes open at the thought. On the edge of his memory something lingered, fear or perhaps a warning, but it faded as quickly as it had appeared. What had it been trying to tell him? What was it that he couldn’t seem to remember?

And why was he in so much pain?

The latter question was easy enough to answer. As Prompto looked down at his arms, his hands, he was surprised to find them wrapped here and there in fresh, white bandages. Even more surprising was the fact that his skin, his palms, even his fingernails were clean, as if someone had taken great care to bathe him. Whoever it was had dressed him, too -- not in his usual blue silk half-skirt, but in a thin, cotton tunic that disappeared beneath the sheets covering his lap.

That led him to the next discovery: he was in a bed, quite a large and comfortable one, in a room he didn’t recognize. The walls were a simple wood, dark but not dirty. On the wall opposite him there was a window with the shutters fastened closed, and to his right a row of shelves containing more books than he had ever seen in his life. The light, he noticed, came from a small gas lamp on the nightstand beside the bed. Next to the lamp were more books, stacked one atop the other and topped with a pair of spectacles.

Clearly, this was _someone’s_ bedroom. But whose? And more importantly, would they be coming back?

Some time passed while Prompto continued to investigate his surroundings from the mattress. Moving had proved impossible, as his back ached and his legs, which he discovered were covered in even more of the white bandages, were too heavy and too weak to lift. Thus he resigned himself to a half-sitting position, using the pillow behind him for support. He had just begun to occupy himself with one of the books from the nightstand -- he couldn’t read the words, but there were illustrations on some of the pages -- when a sound startled him upright. A faint _click_ as a knob turned, and then the only door in the room opened to reveal a very unexpected sight.

The man was _absolutely beautiful_. Tall, lean, hair the color of chestnuts falling across high cheekbones in a trim face. He wore a collared shirt, white with brass buttons, and tucked into a pair of dark blue trousers. In one hand he carried a tray, and the moment his bright, green eyes fell on Prompto his face lit up in a smile.

“Finally back among the living, are we?” he said, his voice lilting in an accent Prompto couldn’t place. Rather than wait for a response, the man stepped fully into the room and began to move toward the bed, approaching carefully. Though the blond’s eyes went wide, he made no attempt to scurry away or hide. The man apparently took this as an invitation to seat himself on the edge of the mattress.

He set the tray down where Prompto could see more clearly. “This one is for your pain,” he explained, gesturing to a small mound of powder on top of a wax square. “And the rest was meant to be my breakfast, but I have no doubt you’ll be needing it more. Here.” As Prompto watched, a bowl filled with freshly sliced fruits and sweet-looking cream was set into his lap, along with a spoon and a napkin cut of thick cloth. For the first time, Prompto realized with a start just how hungry he actually was -- yet instinct kept his hands itching at his sides.

The man smiled again, though this time it seemed sad. “You need to keep up your strength, Prompto. At least eat what you can, it will help the medicine take hold.”

It wasn’t until after he’d risked the first bite (and several more in quick succession) that realization hit Prompto hard enough to knock the spoon from his grasp. “My name,” he gasped, looking at the man with the beautiful green eyes in surprise. “How did you…?”

And then, before he could even receive an answer, Prompto slapped a hand over his mouth and flushed bright pink.

_Mind your place, wretched boy!_

He expected to be hit, kicked, spat on. Yet in response to his outburst, no strike ever came. Instead, the man merely sighed and reached out to lay a soothing hand on Prompto’s knee through the bedding. “He warned me you might do that. Please, Prompto, don’t be afraid. You’re no one’s slave here, you may speak freely with me.” Under his touch, he felt the blond’s thin body begin to relax. His blush faded beneath freckled cheeks, replaced instead by a distant look as questions burned in his mind.

_Not a slave…?_ That could only mean one thing -- that his Mistress, the healer Ezma, was dead. But how had it happened? The injuries on his body; were those a sign that he, too, had nearly befallen the same fate? That he had somehow survived whatever disaster had killed his owner? Then the Romani camp, the circle of caravans, all of the families who had lived there….?

Something lurked once more on the edge of his memories. He recalled a man, another outsider who had come to them injured, bleeding. Prompto felt his chest tighten as he followed the train of thought, recalling the man’s strength, his piercing amber eyes, his broad chest covered in flowing patterns of black ink. It seemed so long ago, and yet….

It was no good. Chasing the elusive memory made his head throb with effort, and exhaustion seeped back into his limbs beneath the linen wraps. His eyes growing heavy, Prompto placed the half-eaten bowl of fruit back onto the tray. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Despite the lingering concern in that deep, emerald gaze, the man smiled. “Not at all. Here, take this and try to rest.” With his help, Prompto was able to swallow down the bitter curative, coughing only once before a glass of water was produced to wash down the rest. He was arranged gently atop the pillows -- Prompto flushing furiously at the careful way the man handled him -- and the sheets tucked up to his chin. Drowsiness came over the blond more quickly than he could have expected. He yawned, round, blue eyes fluttering in their attempt to stay open as he watched the man turn for the door.

One question still burned on his mind, and before sleep could claim his completely he forced himself to ask, “Who are you?”  

The man stilled. Cast a sad smile over his shoulder even as his fingers hovered about the knob. “My name is Ignis,” he said. Prompto was asleep before the door even closed behind him.


	2. It All Comes Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's memory is hazy at best. But it's clear that something dark, something dangerous, lurks just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted for Day 1 of Promptio Week 2018 over on Tumblr!! The prompt is "Keeping warm" :) Very excited to be able to share this story with you all in celebration of my OTP ;3; Viva la Promptio!

Several days passed in a blur of wakefulness and fevered dreams. Ignis visited him from time to time, bringing food, water, medicine, and surprisingly pleasant company. In these lucid hours, Prompto would eat dutifully while he listened to the music of Ignis’ lilting voice. He asked questions, too, about where he was, how he had gotten there, and what had happened to him in between. Though the answers he received were usually vague, he learned enough to piece together that he had been attacked just before the turn of the new moon. By what, Ignis wouldn’t say, but he did mention that the man who found him in the woods was the same one who brought him here, in the dark of night, begging for Ignis’ help. 

Prompto thought he knew him. It was the same man he saw sometimes in his dreams, it had to be. Tall, broad, with eyes like the autumn moon, orange and bright. In Prompto’s dreams the man was often naked, lying beneath him or poised above him as natural as any lover, smiling in a way that made his heart soar. He had a name, ever on the tip of Prom’s tongue -- but before he could give it voice, the scenes always twisted, darkened, turned to ash. Fear replaced the feeling of warmth, and by the end Prompto often woke sweating, shivering, an unspeakable pain gripping his body until Ignis rushed in to help. 

Recovery was slow, but steady. After nearly a week, Prompto was able to sit up on his own, and even venture as far from the bed as the bookshelves on the far wall. There, in the pages of Ignis’ collections, he found a gateway to places and things far beyond his imagination; illustrations of entire cities, with buildings high and symmetrical, crowned with rounded domes or pointed peaks; flowers of more shapes and sizes than Prompto had thought possible, all colored with a thin, flowing paint that reminded him of the clothes worn by the people of the Romani camp; machines, diagrams of mechanical parts that he could neither name nor make sense of, but which fascinated him all the same.

One particular book, however, caught his eye above all others. It was different in nearly every way - bound with a thick, rough leather the color of charcoal, its pages so yellowed in places that Prompto was almost afraid to touch them for fear they would crumble apart. Even the lettering along the spine seemed aged, out of place, etched in a flowing script of faded gold filigree. 

Carefully, he pulled the ancient tome down from the shelf and claimed his favorite spot on the rug; brushed his fingers over the worn cover before opening the book in his lap.   　 

It was impossible for Prompto to decipher the words. Even if he could read more than a few stray letters, the ones he found on  _ these  _ pages were like nothing he had ever seen before. Flowing, elegant, almost as if they were hanging down from invisible lines on the paper. Each one written, he noticed, in a dark, red-black ink that reminded him of blood. More curious still were the illustrations that accompanied the script in many places. Prompto recognized a few animals, some herbs and flowers as he flipped through the book, but the depictions in the drawings were largely alien to him: rat-like creatures with parakeet wings; cats with horns like a deer or an elk; fish that walked on four legs. 

An encyclopedia of mythical beasts. Prompto’s eyes widened as the images grew more and more bizarre the deeper he delved into the book. A unicorn, a hippogriff, things he’d only heard of in the stories told around the Romani campfire in the dead of night. More dangerous ones, too - harpies and goblins, gargoyles and basilisks. All beautiful in their own way, haunting yet harmless, mere legends now captured in the drawings of a book.

Then Prompto turned the page.

It took up one full sheet, a horrifyingly life-like rendition of the beast -- half-man, half-wolf. Yellow eyes stared out from a misshapen skull, its pointed ears and elongated snout covered in the same, dark fur as the the rest of its body. Razor sharp teeth lined its maw, and claws the length of small knives tipped each of the digits on its hands and feet. Above the figure, a drawing of a full moon, and the tiny yellow petals of a flower Prompto had seen before. 

_ Wolfman. Werewolf.  _

His fear turned to ice in his gut. 

_ “I’m a monster, Prom.” _

Tears welled up, hot and stinging behind his too-wide eyes.

_ “Come with me.” _

No. No, he didn’t want to remember!

_ “Run.” _

Ignis found him sobbing into his knees nearly an hour later. In a panic, he dumped the tray he’d been carrying onto the foot of the empty bed and rushed instead to the young man’s side. “Prompto? What, what’s happened? Are you...alright….” He caught sight of the open book on the floor next to the blond’s leg. It told him everything he needed to know. “Oh, dear.”

Instinct told him to scoop Prompto into his arms, but his better judgement stopped him halfway in the act. He rocked back on his heels, furrowed his brows and wondered how, in all his years of practice, he’d never learned a cure for  _ this _ kind of pain - the kind that could cut deeper than any knife, and damage minds beyond repair.

“...dio….”

The soft sound of Prompto’s voice from within his cocoon of limbs caught Ignis off guard. “Sorry?”

“Gladio.” Sad, blue eyes rimmed in red appeared over the tops of his knees. “Where is he?”

Not exactly the first question Ignis had been expecting, but he improvised. “He’s...around. But don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe--”

“I want to see him.”

“Y...you  _ do? _ ” Ignis’ eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead. “Why in Etros’ name would you want that?” 

Now Prompto was wiping at his face with the backs of his hands. “Please, Ignis. Do you know where he is?”

_ Of course he did.  _ It was impossible to go anywhere these days without seeing his hulking shadow lurking about. His sour mood had been a palpable constant since the moment he’d returned carrying the bloody, broken slave boy in his arms; and the last few weeks of heavy drinking had done little to improve his disposition. Ignis fought back a sneer. “I’m sorry, Prompto. But we all agreed it was for the best that he keep his distance.” 

A pink lip quivered. “But why?” 

Why?  _ Why? _ Was he hearing this correctly? Ignis adjusted the spectacles on his nose in an attempt to mask his bewilderment. Perhaps…. Perhaps Prompto didn’t remember. Perhaps he had sustained more serious head trauma than originally feared; he could find no other explanation. They simply needed to give him more time. 

“Come. We’ll speak of this later,” Ignis said, offering his gentlest smile along with a hand to help Prompto to his feet. “Back to bed with you.”

Together they moved to the mattress, and the blond settled comfortably - albeit reluctantly - beneath the sheets. He said nothing for several moments, watching in silence as Ignis recovered the tray and poured the both of them a cup a fragrant tea. Remained quiet as he took a single sip, then set the cup down in his lap with a melancholy sigh. 

“Does he hate me?”

Ignis faltered, his own cup clattering against its saucer. “Who?”

“Gladio. Is that why he won’t come see me?”

Now it was Ignis’ turn to sigh. As much as he had been dreading this conversation, he suddenly realized he’d done little to actually prepare for it now that it was upon him. Best, then, to start with figuring out how much Prompto actually knew. He cleared his throat before he began. “What do you remember about the night before you were brought here?”

A soft breath. “Everything.”

“So you know that the picture you saw in that book is the same monster that attacked you.”

“Gladio isn’t a monster.”

_ Oh.  _ Green eyes widened. So Prompto  _ did _ understand -- which meant he...what?  _ Forgave _ Gladio? Still cared for him after everything that had happened? Despite everything that he  _ was? _

“I want to see him,” Prompto repeated in a small voice, and Ignis sensed the desperation there. “Ignis, can you tell him for me? Please?”

What could he say? The poor, lovesick boy was looking at him with such heartache in his eyes. How could he tell him the truth? How could he tell him that as his own wounds healed and he grew stronger, Gladio broke apart a little more each day? Ignis refused to play cupid for that damned, board-headed fool, but it was beyond him to be able to refuse Prompto’s request. He would help him. 

“I’ll...see what I can do,” he promised, the words like lead weights in his gut. But even as he spoke them, a light returned to Prompto’s face. The blond smiled, if only weakly, and Ignis couldn’t resist reaching forward to brush a few rouge strands from his eyes. “Rest now. You mustn’t push yourself so hard.” 

* * *

 

That night, Ignis sought Gladiolus out in the old barn behind the farmhouse. He was there, as expected, huddling by the failing warmth of a small fire. The flames danced as the tinder crackled, its cries for attention falling on seemingly deaf ears. Gladio sat unmoving, cold gaze fixed on an open window where the light of the waxing moon spilled in across the dusty floor. 

Next to him, a dark bottle lay on its side -- empty.

“Thought I might find you here,” Ignis said in lieu of a proper greeting as he stepped into the barn. “Does Noctis know you’re wallowing without his permission again.”

A gruff laugh, completely devoid of mirth, was his only reply. Ignis rolled his eyes. 

“Forgive me for not leaving you to it,” he continued dryly. The fire offered a little warmth the closer he approached, though his eyes were ever alert, ever locked on Gladio’s broad shoulders beneath his fur-lined coat. “I thought you might like to know that you’ve been...requested.”

“By  _ ‘his Majesty’?” _

Green eyes flashed almost dangerously. “No. By Prompto.” 

For the first time since the uninvited arrival, Gladio’s body shifted in the dim light. He half turned, casting a dark glare over one shoulder in Ignis’ general direction, a sneer on his lips. “Horse shit.”

“I have no reason to lie to you, and you know it. He says he wants to see you.” Ignis cracked his knuckles before raising his gloved hands nearer to the warmth of the fire. “Was quite adamant about it, actually.” 

Silence as Gladio mulled the words over in his head. His fingers clenched around a fistful of dirt, shook as he lowered his gaze to the dying embers at Ignis’ feet. “He... _ wants _ to see me?”

“I know, it defies all logic.”   

Gladio stared into the fire, saying nothing. Several long moments passed in silence, until Ignis began to grow restless. “Well?” he pressed, voice as sharp as a blade. “Will you go to him or not?”

“I….” His large fist shook against the ground, tremors moving up the length of his arm until his entire body was trembling. “I  _ can’t _ .” 

_ Stubborn. Selfish. This was a waste of time.  _ Ignis turned away from the fire in disgust, prepared to leave the whole conversation at ‘w _ ell I tried’  _ and return to Prompto empty-handed. But something still tugged at him; blue eyes pleading above tear-stained cheeks. A soul to who deserved better. 

“Forget about what you  _ can’t _ do. Consider what  _ he needs _ .” Ignis’ eyes were cold steel in the light of the moon as they bore into Gladio. “You owe him that much.”

Then he rounded on his heel and stormed out of the barn, back across the shadowed field toward the light of the farmhouse. Leaving Gladio alone with nothing but the gravity of his words and the meager fire to keep him warm. 

In the darkness, Gladio snarled. The dirt he’d been clutching in his fist hit the embers with enough force to send a cloud of smoke and dust into the chilled air. 

And with it, the last light went out.  


	3. The Real Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are worse things than werewolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like this chapter :3 Remember: things always get worse before they get better!

A knock on his door woke Prompto around mid-morning. He sat up gingerly against the pillows and rubbed sleep from his eyes, half-expecting the door to open as usual and Ignis’ lilting voice to announce that he’d brought morning tea. 

But all that followed was another knock. 

Odd. Prompto‘s heart skipped a beat. Whoever was there, it certainly wasn’t Ignis. Out of instinct, he tugged the sheets tighter around him. “Y-yes?”

The knob turned. A flash of black -- hair, tunic, pants, everything -- and then a distinctly unfamiliar face was grinning at him from the door. “Hi there,” the young man, who appeared not much older than Prompto himself, greeted casually. His lips were curved up in a smirk, and Prompto noticed he was balancing (poorly) a tray of snacks, tea, and medicine in the hand not holding open the door. “Iggy had to go into town today. He asked me to bring your breakfast. Sorry it’s, uh, kinda late.” 

Neither moved. After a moment, Prompto realized with a start that the young man was waiting for some kind of invitation, so he hastily patted the spot next to him on the bed. 

Violet eyes smiled. The man left the door open as he entered, and set the tray down at Prompto’s feet before kicking off his own boots. He nearly sent the blond tumbling right over the far edge when he flopped unceremoniously down onto the mattress and leaned back into the pillows at his side. “Ahh. I’ve missed this bed,” he said, grinning up Prompto. 

Pink suddenly flushed across freckled cheeks. “I-I’m sorry. Is this...your room?” Somehow, the sight of this stranger -- with his flawless pale skin, long, dark eyelashes, and the curtain of black hair falling into his beautiful face -- made Prompto wish he’d bothered to get dressed that morning. And that he’d washed up. As it was, he clutched the blankets around his bare chest and tried not to stare. 

The man didn’t seem bothered either way. “Nah, this is Iggy’s room. He’s been crashing with me since you showed up, but,” Again, his lips curved playfully, and he gave the mattress an experimental shake with his hips. “I always liked his bed better.” 

Prompto swallowed. “You live here, then? I haven’t seen you before.”

A laugh this time, friendly and relaxed. “How could you have? You’ve been locked up in here the whole time. No visitors,  _ doctor’s _ orders.”

Doctor…. Did he mean Ignis? Then this young man was…? Prompto reached for the tray in an attempt to distract himself from the violet eyes watching him close. “I didn’t realize.” He poured a cup of tea, offered it to the stranger, then took it himself when it was turned down. “Ignis seems to think I’ll be ready to leave soon. As soon as I’m gone, you can have yo-... _ his _ room back.”

The bed shook again as the man rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to shoot Prompto a look. “Why the rush?” He smiled and held out his free hand. “I’m Noct. It’s short for Noctis. Welcome more or less officially to the pack.”

Only then, as Prompto reached out to accept his hand in mild confusion, did he see it. Long, jet black as the hair on his head, and curling lazily against one thigh --  _ his tail _ . Identical, at least to Prompto’s undiscerning eye, to the one Gladio had kept secret so long beneath his clothes. But where Gladio had tried so hard to hide his affliction,  _ this _ werewolf seemed to  _ flaunt  _ it. 

Noct’s grin widened, and his teeth flashed sharp and fearsome behind charming lips. 

* * *

 

It was becoming clear that things would take...some adjusting. 

Unlike Ignis, Noct seemed willing to answer Prompto’s questions openly, honestly, and one after another without growing bored. They even shared breakfast while they talked, Noctis taking an extra butter roll in exchange for his sliced tomatoes and the beans he picked out of his soup. 

“Yeah, Iggy’s got one, too,” he laughed around a mouthful of bread, in answer to one of Prompto’s most pressing questions. “Probably didn’t wanna scare you, so he kept it out of sight. But it’s pretty. Darker than you might expect. And the fur gets all curly when its wet.”

Prompto laughed along with him at the image. Somehow, it hadn’t surprise him all that much to learn that Ignis, too, was a werewolf. Like Noctis, and like Gladio, the affliction only manifested under the spell of the full moon; the rest of the month, he seemed as normal as anyone else. 

Which lead Prompto to another, more unsettling thought. He stopped chewing and looked down at his bare arms still covered in white gauze, knowing his legs beneath the sheets were even worse. “Noct, do you think that I could be…? I-I mean, isn’t that how people... _ change?” _

A shrug. “Did he bite you?”

“I...don’t know.” 

Violet eyes scanned him for a moment, pensive. Then Noct set his plate aside in favor of getting to all fours on the bed, his knees suddenly boxing Prompto’s thighs in underneath the covers. He smiled disarmingly, and helped the blond lower his trembling arms back to the sheets. “Calm down,” he said. “This won’t hurt.” 

Mild panic rose up from Prompto’s chest. Lingered somewhere around his throat right where the tip of Noctis’ nose grazed over his skin. He sniffed once, twice, cool air puffing out against him and making Prompto gulp. Then there was a subtle warmth --  _ lips? _ \-- followed by the distinct drag of a tongue across the curve of his throat, before Noct pulled away and smirked. 

“Nope,” he concluded in answer to Prompto’s wide eyes and rapidly reddening cheeks. “You taste like human to me.”

Relief -- and  _ something else _ \-- spread through him, warm and tingling. “T-thank you. What’s it like, anyway? Being changed?”

“Turned.”

Prompto blinked. Shrugging again, Noct settled back into place atop the pillows, this time wrapping an arm around Prompto’s shoulders and not-so-subtly leaning into him. “That’s what it’s called, being  _ turned _ . There’s lingo for this stuff.”

The blond flushed. “I-I didn’t know that.” 

“You’ll learn. And anyway, I wouldn’t know. I was never turned.”

“You mean...you were born like this?”

Noct grinned, dark and wolfish. “That’s right. My whole family, really. My parents, my grandparents, as far back as anyone can remember, we’ve always been lycan.”

While Prompto was still processing Noct’s words, struggling a little over the last one, he felt the body next to him shift again. Noct pressed up against his side, insistent but still taking care where his wounds were the worst, and began to work one hand under the sheets of the bed. “And what about you?” came that coy, smiling voice next to his ear. Fingers brushed his stomach and Prompto gasped. “I wanna get to know you better.” 

He considered pushing Noct off, he really did. Mostly because this was unexpected and he really wished he’d had time for a bath first, but also because he was pretty sure Ignis would not be pleased to find them like this in  _ his _ bed when he came back. Especially considering it sounded like Noct was Ignis’..... 

“O- _ ohh _ .” The soft moan left his lips unbidden. Bold fingers had found the front of his undergarments and were stroking over the bulge there with clear purpose. “Aah…!”

Noct chuckled against his ear. “You have a pretty voice. It matches the rest of you.” He pressed harder, pleased to feel the flesh there swelling in time with the blond’s rapid heartbeats. “And you smell  _ so good _ .”

“N-Noct?”

“You smell like sex. I could taste it on you the second I walked in the room.” Those lips pressed to his skin again, this time at the juncture of his neck below his ear, and Prompto’s entire body shuddered. “Wanna know something else about werewolves?”

He swallowed, unable to resist rubbing up against the flat of Noct’s palm as it ground into him. 

“We’re  _ always _ up for a good rut.”

“Oh...O-OH!” Blue eyes shot open wide, and Prompto bolted up on the bed. “Gladio!”

There was no way to know how long he’d been standing in the doorway, his shoulders drooping under a heavy vest, his dark beard and flowing hair longer than Prompto had remembered. But from the pained expression on his face it was clear that he’d seen enough. 

He didn’t turn to run, but neither did he respond to the sound of his name. Unmoving, he simply glared at Noctis, long and hard, until the younger man began to draw his hand out from under the sheets. 

“Didn’t hear you crawl out of your cave,” Noct spat, and Prompto noticed his tail flick angrily against his thigh. “Finally drink yourself completely out of your senses?”

“Get out.”

More angry flicking, and the fur on Noct’s tail stood on end. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

Gladio practically snarled. “Get out,  _ please _ .” 

For a brief moment, Prompto couldn’t breathe. He could practically  _ taste _ the energy, the tension thrumming through the air as the two men stared each other down like beasts. Several more sharp words were exchanged, rough and jarringly foreign to his human ears, but whatever Gladio said seemed to do the trick. Noct’s hair settled back into place. He rose stiffly from the bed and, casting a last, unreadable glance at Prompto behind him, stalked to the door. His shoulder jostled Gladio aside on his way into the hall and out of sight.  

Utter silence fell in his wake. Slowly, cautiously, Prompto slipped out of bed and snatched up his tunic from the chair nearby. Pulled it on over his head as he began to pad across the hardwood floor, searching for words -- something, anything -- to say. Still poised halfway between rooms, Gladio could do nothing but shuffle awkwardly on his feet, avoiding eye contact even as Prompto drew close.

“Did Ignis ask you to come?” the blond started, voice quiet so as not to break the tension. It took visible effort, but at last those deep, familiar, honey-gold eyes turned to him, and Prompto watched as Gladio took in the sight. The bandages on his arms, the scars peeking out from white gauze beneath the hem of his tunic and running all the way down to his knees. The dark circles, the sadness swallowing up summer blues. Gladio took it all in, his face growing more haggard with each second that passed. 

“...I shouldn’t be here.” 

Prompto’s steps faltered. “Why not?”

“You  _ know _ why,” came the growl. Against the frame of the door, Gladio’s fingers curled into a fist. “Why did you send for me?”

“Because--” Suddenly, Prompto frowned.  _ I love you. I missed you. I needed to see you, to know that you still cared.  _ Everything he could say -- wanted to say -- fell flat in the face of Gladio’s seeming indifference. “Because you never came yourself. Ignis said you wouldn’t, even if I asked.”

_ But you did _ . The words hung in the space between then, unspoken, as light as a prayer of hope. Prompto took another step forward, closing the gap. Reached up to lay his fingertips on Gladio’s cheek, to brush them over the scar there the way he had done once before, lying naked and glowing on the floor of Ezma’s caravan. 

Gladio flinched away from the touch as if he’d been struck. 

“Don’t,” he said darkly, jaw clenching with pain. “Just. Don’t.”

He didn’t understand. He  _ couldn’t  _ understand. Why was Gladio being so cruel? After everything that happened, why did he insist on breaking his heart all over again? But Prompto refused to cry. He bit back the useless tears and curled his hands into fists.  _ Too cruel. Too unfair.   _

The second Gladio opened his mouth again, the blond was ready. This time he  _ did  _ strike, aiming his fists at Gladio’s hard chest and throwing his weight into every punch. 

“ _ You promised _ ,” he shouted, voice catching in his constricting throat. “I trusted you!”

Against a seasoned warrior, his blows should have done nothing more than sting. But Gladio stumbled back nevertheless, face shadowed, expression blank. He didn’t bother defending himself from Prompto’s anger; he knew each and every strike was as well-deserved as the last. 

“ _ Liar. _ ” A final blow fell in the form of Prompto collapsing against Gladio’s chest, exhausted, shaking. Despite his efforts the tears were welling up at the corners of his eyes. He squeezed them shut as tight as he could. “Do you... _ did you _ ever love me?”

Silence. Gladio’s hands started to rise on instinct, started to move to grip those thin, trembling shoulders. But he dropped them back down just as fast. Swallowed dryly and grit his teeth against the hateful lie even as it slithered up from his throat.  _ It’s for him _ , Ignis would have said. _ It’s for the best.  _

“...I’m sorry.”

Two words, spoken as cold as ice and deadly as venom to Prompto’s heart. He took an unbalanced step back away from Gladio.  _ No _ . Not Gladio. Not  _ his  _ Gladio. This man was…was….

“You really are a monster,” he whispered. 

Shoulders deflating, Gladio turned his back on the open door. “Yeah. I am,” came the answer, and then he was walking away before Prompto could see him break. 


	4. Beware Strays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio has made more than his fair share of mistakes in life. But one, above all others, will haunt him until the end of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaayy two updates in the same day! This chapter actually came about for the Promptio Day 2 theme "Brotherhood" - and credit goes to Carmen_sandyeggo for the idea of doing a flashback into Gladdy's past. Cause, y'know, he wasn't always a werewolf. 
> 
> ...
> 
> I'm sorry in advance for this :')

“Iris! Didn’t you hear Mother? Get back in the house!”

Gladio stood in the doorway, hands cupped to his lips as he stared out at the failing light of dusk. The dirt road leading up to the front of the house was empty save for a couple of Iris’ toys -- a wooden sword, and a doll made from burlap and twine -- but his sister was nowhere sight. He called out to her again. “Iris, come on! Iris!!”

_ Great _ . No matter how many times she’d been told not to wander off, his sister had the same streak of bull-headed independence as the rest of the family. But it was getting dark, and if he didn’t bring her home soon it would be  _ his _ head on Father’s plate that night.

So he took his favorite jacket -- the one lined with wolf’s fur, a trophy from his first hunt -- and tugged on his boots, setting off in hopes of finding her before anyone even noticed he was gone. 

Luckily for him, he only had to go as far as the edge of the woods. Iris knew better than to leave the safety of the village on her own; that the forest was a dangerous place, especially for children her age. Yet as Gladio approached the unmistakable form of his sister -- no other girl in the village wore breeches or had hair cut quite so short -- he realized with a start that she wasn’t actually alone. There was a boy with her, younger by a year at least, with wide, sad eyes and dirt streaked across his freckled cheeks, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. And he was a foreigner; Gladio could tell by the auburn color of his unwashed hair. From the north, most likely. What was he doing here?

“Iris,” Gladio called, his voice tinged with caution. “I’ve been looking for you. It’s time to go home.” 

His sister turned in surprise. The boy, he noticed, shied away behind her. “Oh, Gladdy! I made a friend.” She stepped aside, clasping onto the boy’s bare arm in the process. Despite the late autumn chill, he wore little more than a threadbare tunic and a piece of rope tied around his waist as a belt, holding the too-large garment together. Iris smiled brightly. “He says he’s hungry. Can he come home with us for dinner? Surely Father won’t mind.” 

Annoyance tugged at the corner of Gladio’s mouth.  _ This _ part of Iris was inherited directly from their mother, who was often too kind a soul for her own good. She, like her daughter, had a penchant for picking up lost little strays -- even Clarus had put his foot down after three cats, a dog with a broken leg, and a sick fawn had been brought to his doorstep. A stray boy? He’d never hear of it. 

“Don’t be stupid. Let’s go, before you worry Mother to death.”

He reached out to grab her arm, thinking to pull her away back to the house. But Iris was strong -- Amicitia strong -- and she dug her heels into the ground and refused to budge. Gladio tugged again, grunted, and finally released her with a groan. “Fine! Bring the little beggar if you insist. But don’t expect me to help when Father throws him out!”

Clarus, in fact, did nothing of the sort. He had an everlasting soft spot in all things where his daughter was concerned, and thus welcomed her new friend into his home with open arms. Gladio could only grumble and follow along behind them. 

The Amicitia family was wealthy, tracing their estate back to a great-uncle who had once died in service of the king, and therefore their table was always large enough for guests. The boy, who spoke softly but eventually revealed his name to be Talcott, tucked in with the gusto of a man three times his size. Iris laughed, and their mother offered him a room for the night if he truly had nowhere else to go. Talcott smiled sweetly. 

Gladio would never forget the shape of the moon that night. How bright it was. How its light seemed to fill every room in the house with a pale, chill glow. He remembered every detail of the scene more perfectly than even the most vivid of nightmares, because nothing could ever be more real, or more terrifying. 

It had started with Iris’ screams.

Gladio rushed into the hallway in a groggy daze. He could see the door of his parent’s bedroom fly open, and his father’s powerful shoulders beneath his cotton nightgown. They exchanged looks, then hurried together for the stairs as Iris’ voice rang out again.

“ _ Iris!” _ Clarus cried, his face a mask of terror and rage. “ _ Where are you?!” _

Another scream. This time cut short just as Gladio’s feet reached the landing first, and followed by a sound that chilled his blood to the marrow --  _ a howl. _ Like that of a wolf, and yet  _ different _ ; more haunting, more feral. Had one of the beasts come down from the mountains out of season?! 

Beside him, his father was barking orders. He shoved something in Gladio’s arms -- a plank of wood pulled from a shelf next to the stairs -- and then Clarus was charging forward. His voice was loud, terrible even in Gladio’s memory as he neared Iris’ room, fists raised and prepared to strike. 

The monster never gave him a chance.

Like a shadow it burst through the door, large and far too fast for any human. Its misshapen body was covered in a thick fur that gleamed auburn in the moonlight; its claws flashed like steel. Clarus crumpled to the floor in a spray of blood and viscera. His chest had been sliced open, his death instant. 

But there was no time to register the sight of his father fall. The monster turned to Gladio next, and he caught the glint of blood dripping from its maw. Above two rows of impossibly sharp teeth, its yellow eyes felt eerily familiar. Gladio’s body turned to lead. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Could do nothing but stare as the thing bore down on him. It was only instinct that had him raising his arms at the last second in a desperate defense. But it was instinct that, for better or worse, saved his life that night.

The makeshift wooden shield caught the brunt of the impact as the beast collided with him, throwing him off-balance but keeping those razor-sharp claws from ripping into his flesh. Instead, as he flailed backwards and into the wall beside the stairs, he felt a blinding pain in his shoulder, and tasted blood and bile in his throat. Gladio cried out, but was too slow to stop the momentum of the attack from throwing both him and the monster down the stairs. He hit the lower landing with a grunt; the rest of the air was forced from his lungs when the beast’s weight fell into him. And then in a whirl it spun away, lashing at the walls and clawing its way down to the lower floor, howling and rasping as if in pain. 

Gladio lay at the bottom of the steps, broken, bleeding. Unable to move even as the sounds of his mother’s terrible shrieks filled the house. Glass shattered somewhere in the distance. And then silence. Horrifying, surreal silence. In his shock, Gladio felt nothing -- not the tears falling hot and useless down his face, nor the burning pain in his shoulder where the monster had bitten him. Not even the grief of knowing everyone in his family was dead. 

Now he, too, lay dying, and it left him numb to all else. 

His last thought was of how beautiful the full moon looked shining through the broken window. 

* * *

 

That night was forever etched like a curse in his memory, as inescapable as the one that had since flowed through his veins. It haunted him worse than the first time he’d transformed, screaming in horror as his bones snapped and his skin tore, and a dark, thick fur grew to block out his senses. It haunted him more than the morning he’d woken up in a pool of blood in a home he’d never seen before. It haunted him every time he tried, and failed, to take his own life, as if the beast inside of him refused to give him peace. 

Years passed. Decades. By the time Noctis found him, he was a wreck. A starving, half-crazed, broken man roaming the forests in search of death. Noct had known instantly what he was, and had offered him a second chance at his side. A guardian, a protector, a Shield. It was through Noct, and by association his lifemate Ignis, that Gladio found purpose again. A reason to go on. 

In all the time since, he’d never asked more for. Had never  _ deserved _ more, because even among monsters he was the worst kind. Useless, stupid. And so until that fateful day he stumbled upon a circle of caravans in the forest, he had never expected to feel love again. He had never, ever expected to find a reason to want to  _ live _ . 

“You,” Ignis was growling as he paced in front of the fireplace. “Are the most idiotic, careless,  _ wretch _ of a man I have ever met. Do you have  _ any _ idea what kind of pain that poor boy is in?”

Gladio remained silent, his eyes frightened and locked on the flames. He wanted to throw himself into them. Maybe he would have, if Noctis hadn’t jumped to his defense. 

“It’s not like he did it on purpose. At least he didn’t kill him.”

“Would that he had!” Like Noct, Ignis’ hands and the front of his shirt were covered in blood, stained where they had helped to carry the limp form of the young blond into the house. He had seen the extent of the injuries, and he knew better than the rest what kind of miracle it would take to heal them all. He looked from his lover to Gladio, and back again. “Imagine what happens when he wakes up. When he remembers what it was like to be attacked, to be  _ raped _ \--” (Gladio flinched visibly) “--by a monster! Imagine the trauma he’ll face. And that’s if he wakes up at all.” 

The last remark was pointed very obviously in his direction, but Gladio didn’t dare defend himself from the biting scorn. 

After all, it was exactly what he deserved.   


	5. Taking Root

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk through the garden with Ignis leads to some unexpected revelations - and an uncertain future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this for Promptio Week Day 3 "Future" ;D I realize there isn't much happy Promptio in this story yet (and in fact, this chapter is all about the Promnis and Ignoct...), but trust me, we're getting there. Also, there is much much more to Ignis' story here, maybe to be revealed for Ignoct week next month...? IDK  
> Anyway, I'd like to give a BIG THANK YOU for all the comments and feedback so far!!! You guys are amazing and I love you ;^;

It was a beautiful spring morning when Ignis came into the room carrying a knit shawl and asked if Prompto might like to accompany him for a walk. 

In the weeks since arriving at the farmhouse, the blond had yet to see more of his surroundings than what was visible from the bedroom window. A line of pine trees told him they were near the edge of an unfamiliar forest, but beyond that he had only a vague idea that he’d come somewhere  _ south _ . The air was more humid, the breeze less chill than the one he’d grown used to in the Romani camp. He longed to venture outside and see this new land for himself, so he accepted Ignis’ offer with an enthusiastic smile. 

The distance from the bed to the hallway was familiar enough. Ignis guided him right toward the entrance, past shelves and a single, open door, beyond which Prompto caught a glimpse of several chairs, a fireplace, blankets piled on a hardwood floor. Then he was being ushered past, and Ignis smiled as he handed Prompto a pair of leather sandals. 

“These belonged to Noctis” he explained, while blue eyes widened at the supple feel of the hide against his skin. “But he suggested they might look better on you.” He helped Prompto to tie the laces, pleased with the near perfect fit, before wrapping the shawl about his shoulders and leading him outside at last. 

Sunlight kissed his skin for the first time in what felt like ages. Beyond the front door of the farmhouse, Prompto drew in a deep breath of crisp air and smiled; allowed Ignis to steady him as they descended the porch to the soft ground below. Under his feet, the grass was plush, vibrant, and seemed to bounce with each step as he walked. From everywhere at once, the sights and sounds and smells of nature surrounded him, and Prompto beamed as if the very earth filled him with life. 

“It’s beautiful!” he said, suddenly clinging to Ignis’ elbow, mouth split wide in a smile. 

Green eyes lingered on him for a long moment before Ignis, too, nodded his agreement. “Would you like to see the garden?”

Around to the west of the house, a line of mountains came into view in the distance above the trees. Prompto was sure he’d seen them before - long ago, perhaps, or in a dream - but he didn’t know their name. He let his gaze instead fall on a small plot of land between the house and a thatched barn to his right; a vegetable garden, already brimming with greens, tomatoes, snap peas, and even strawberries. 

Prompto’s mouth watered at the sight. 

“Do you grow these yourself?” he asked, following Ignis to the edge of the garden. The breeze was warm as it blew through the field, and Prompto removed his shawl to fold it instead over his arm.

Ignis chuckled. “I do. My uncle taught me the art of gardening a long time ago. He always said, ‘Food grown from the heart is best for the soul.’”

“That’s lovely.”

“He was a drunk.” Ignis’ mouth twitched in a smile, and he offered his hand to lead Prompto further within. “But he had a passion for food like no one else I’ve ever met. A veritable genius in the kitchen.” 

“ _ You’re  _ the best cook I’ve ever met,” Prompto said, almost without thinking. “Where did you learn?”

Smiling green eyes met his briefly. “Why, thank you. I learned in the same place I as a good deal of other things; in the service of the Caelum family.” While the blond’s mind reeled, Ignis knelt down, careful not to soil the legs of his pants, and began to pluck through the strawberry patch.

“ _ Caelum _ ,” Prompto repeated. “But...that’s Noct’s name.” 

“Yes, indeed. My family served his for many generations.”

“Served? Were you…?” He stopped. Blue eyes fell to the ground, and Prompto chewed his lip as if not sure how to put his question into words. He’d spent all of his own life being passed around, a slave sold from one master to another when they grew bored of him.  _ Too old, too used, too broken in. _ By the time Ezma had bought him, he had grown accustomed to cruel hands and unfamiliar beds; to him, that was what it meant to  _ serve _ . 

Ignis seemed to follow his train of thought. “No, no. Not like that. We took care of their manor, mostly. Cleaning, cooking, tutoring. Anything beyond that was...given freely.” 

He smiled wistfully. Prompto could guess there was more to the story -- much more -- but at that moment Ignis picked the largest, ripest strawberry from its stem and got to his feet. “Noctis loves strawberries. I thought today I might make him a treat.  _ Tarte aux fraises _ , one of his favorites. Would you like to help me taste test?” 

Prompto nodded eagerly, yet still couldn’t resist one last, burning question. “Ignis? Are you and Noct…?”

“Yes,” he answered smoothly, and the blond didn’t miss the flash of pride behind smiling emeralds. “I am his lifemate. We’re bonded, forever.” At the look he was being given, Ignis dropped his serious tone and let out a soft, rich laugh. “It’s similar to the concept of marriage, in a way. You can think of it like that if you prefer.” 

Though Prompto forced a smile, his stomach was twisting slowly into a large, uncomfortable knot. He’d feared as much. The first day Noct came to visit him all the signs had been there, and yet…. He couldn’t forget the hungry look in Noct’s eyes, or the hand that had so readily sought out his heat beneath the blankets. Had he forgotten Ignis? Did he not care? Prompto’s heart sank to think that after all of the kindness he’d been shown, he had somehow repaid it with hurt. 

But again, Ignis read into Prompto’s words before he could even give them voice. And he smiled. “Don’t worry, Prompto. I know that Noct has taken a liking to you.” At the gasp of surprise -- and perhaps fear -- that slipped from the blond’s lips, Ignis merely stepped forward to close the distance. Gentle fingers found Prompto’s cheek, cradled him as those kind, soothing eyes drew him in. “He and I see nothing wrong with sharing.” 

The strawberry between his fingers was brought to Prompto’s lips. After a heartbeat, loud and telling in his chest, the blond let his eyelids droop; reached up as if to take the offering, but instead curled his fingers around Ignis’ wrist and drew him closer. His lips grazed the tips of his fingers as he bit into the fruit, and his tongue darted out, sweet and pink, to lap up the juice that trickled down toward his palm. 

Ignis watched, unblinking, his breath stilled in his chest. The second Prompto pulled back, his lips coated in sugary sweet, Ignis dove forward to capture them with his own mouth. 

The blond opened up for him, willingly, eagerly, relief and excitement flooding them both through the kiss. Ignis dropped the half-eaten strawberry in favor of sliding his fingers over the lean planes of Prompto’s back, his hips, and sighed as he felt the blond shudder under the touch. His thin body pressed forward as if seeking more heat, more  _ everything _ \-- and found it when Ignis hugged him close in his arms. 

Since the last time Gladio had kissed him in the moonlight of Ezma’s caravan, Prompto had missed this. His  _ body _ had missed this. Ignis’ lips against his set alight a flame inside of him, a craving for the gentle caress of another’s skin, hands, mouth over every inch of him. Like a chain reaction, his body awoke with almost embarrassing speed -- until the both of them were forced to pull apart, cheeks flushed and breathing uneven, to regain a semblance of control. 

“I...I’m sorry, Prompto. That was….” 

Blue eyes scanned that beautiful, scarred face, trying to read past the surprise there. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t,” Ignis paused, swallowed. “My intention is not to take advantage of…your position.”

“I know.” Prompto smiled as he kissed Ignis again, soft and sweet and chaste on his lips. “I know that.” 

They stood there for several moments longer, Prompto folded in Ignis’ arms and their cheeks resting together, until at last the taller man cleared his throat with a shy smile. “Let’s pick a few of these strawberries and head back inside. If you’d like, I could show you how to make Noct’s favorite dessert.” 

Nearly fifteen minutes and a generous helping of berries later, the two finally picked their way out of the garden and started back for the house. Prompto smiled brightly as carried his harvest in the shawl stretched between his hands, and Ignis praised him for his enthusiasm. “Neither of the others ever took an interest in helping me with the gardening,” he said, casting the blond an appreciative look. “It certainly is nice to have an able-bodied assistant around.” 

When Prompto laughed, the sound was light, beautiful. “It’s the least I can do. Now that I’m getting better, I can help with other things, too.” There was a pointed smile there which wasn’t lost on Ignis, but he chose to overlook it for the moment. 

“You won’t have to stay here much longer, you know. I imagine you’ll be ready to leave before long.” He glanced out at the forest, the mountains beyond them, and Prompto slowly followed his gaze. “Have you considered what you’ll do? Where you’ll go?”

Blond hair fell around his face as Prompto shook his head. “I’m a slave. Slaves don’t have futures to think about.” 

“You’re not a slave anymore. You never will be again.”

Prompto fell quiet as they walked, rounding the corner of the farmhouse and losing sight of the mountains. What  _ could  _ he do? There was a time, when he’d listened to Gladio tell stories of his adventures in far off lands, that he dreamed of seeing those places with his own eyes. Gladio had promised to take him there -- anywhere -- to show him the wider world someday. But Gladio wasn’t in the habit of keeping promises, it seemed, and without him…the dream felt terribly empty. Prompto shrugged. 

“I have no money, and no family. I wouldn’t get far.”

The smile Ignis offered him was meant to be comforting. “There are always options. If you need a job, I could find you someplace decent to work, and Noctis has...resources. We can help you, you just need to say the word.” 

He didn’t quite understand. After all, Prompto was already happy -- happier than he’d ever felt in his life, at any rate -- and both Ignis and Noctis had been so kind to him. And, of course, despite the fact that he’d neither seen or heard from Gladio in days, this was the only place to stay close to him. Hope was stubborn, died hard. 

Everything he wanted -- had ever wanted -- was right here in this quiet farmhouse on the edge of the woods. Why did he have to leave? 

Lost in the thought, he gave voice to the words just as they reached the porch. “I’d like to stay here.”

Ignis glanced over his shoulder, looking at him with genuine concern. “Prompto. You know what this place is -- what  _ we _ are. It won’t be safe for you here forever.”

He knew that. He did. To them, he was weak, an outsider.  _ Human _ . But he also felt in his heart that this was where he was meant to be. For Noct, for Ignis. For Gladio. For himself. “Then turn me.”

A heavy pause. Green eyes narrowed. “What?” 

“Noct says that’s what it’s called, right? Turn me. I want to be one of you.” 

The strawberries fell from Ignis’ hands, scattered on the porch forgotten as he rushed forward. His arms were around Prompto in an instant, strong even as they trembled. When at last he spoke, his voice was distant, filled with fear, horror, and something else. 

“No, Prompto,” he said. “Not that. Not  _ ever  _ that.” 


	6. One Wolf's Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis heads into town, leaving Noct in charge of settling Prompto into his new room. But while the Voice of Reason is away, cocky werewolves are free to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey look a wild update appears! I didn't mean to neglect this story for so long (I never do), but I'm always distracted by some ship week or another on Tumblr.  
> Anywho, here's the first chapter with some real smut :) Consensual, but also kinda...fuckboy-ish smut. I apologize for Noct's abrasiveness in this story, but please remember that he's a werewolf prince who isn't really concerned with the fickle hearts of humans.  
> Or, apparently, his own packmates.  
> Um.  
> Enjoy? ^^;;

 

The next morning, it was decided that Prompto was to be moved into the attic. 

The decision came on the tails of a long and restless night. Not only for Prompto, but for Ignis and Noct as well, if the noises he’d heard coming from the adjacent room were any clue. 

Just after dark, while he’d been skimming through the pages of a picture book (children’s ‘fairy tales,’ as Ignis had explained), the wall behind his bed had shuddered violently. Then there’d been a scratching sound that had put Prompto’s nerves on high alert for a terrifying moment, followed by more tremors rattling the timber. A voice, at once like Ignis’ and yet somehow different, rougher, more heady, cried out in a half-scream. Dissolved into tell-tale moans as the pounding against the wall grew more rhythmic. 

Prompto’s eyes has gone as round as his face was red. 

As the night wore on, the sounds of their frantic lovemaking escalated, climaxing only to renew again within minutes. Though they eventually moved away from the wall itself, the cries and growls and desperate pleas still bled through into his room. Flushed his cheeks with equal parts shame and empathy as his own hips rocked against the sheets. 

Sleep was impossible. At least until well into the early hours of the morning, when the room beside his fell quiet and Prompto, exhausted in his frustrations, slipped into an uneasy rest. 

Ignis woke him a few hours later for breakfast. 

Despite his own lack of sleep, the brunet’s smile was easy, bright as he entered carrying a steaming bowl of oats and honey. Prompto noticed he favored one leg more than the other, but nothing else about his outward appearance would suggest he’d spent the night howling his lover’s name as if to the moon itself. 

As he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Prompto found that even his gurgling stomach at the sight of breakfast couldn’t distract him completely from the rather vivid images called to mind. Ignis sat at his side (gingerly) and poured them each a cup of coffee. 

“Would you care for more of those strawberries this morning? You look as though you could use a pick-me-up,” he smiled, setting a saucer onto the blond’s lap. 

Prompto’s eyes lingered on his wrist, his fingers as he drew them away. “No, thank you. Um.” He felt that soft, emerald gaze rake over him, and warmth spread like a summer breeze beneath his freckles. “Is...Noct still sleeping?” 

A chuckle. “He is. Mornings have never really suited him. Why do you ask?” 

“N-nothing. I just, um.” Prompto shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, chewed for a moment while he collected his thoughts. Swallowed hard. “I never knew anyone could go that many times in one night before.”

Ignis made a choked sound as he sputtered on a mouthful of coffee.

Several minutes later, Prompto found himself in Noct’s room next door, standing at the foot of a large, disheveled bed and staring down at a very groggy, very naked werewolf. Ignis explained, in no uncertain terms, that their guest was to be given a room of his own. “Or else,” he added pointedly, “ _ You _ will be spending the next month out in the barn with Gladio.” 

* * *

 

“It’s a little drafty in the winter, but you should be fine for now.” Noct stretched his arms over his head, yawning as he let Prompto step past him into the attic. 

It wasn’t a large space, and the walls angled in with the shape of the roof, coming to a point at the thick beam that ran the length of the ceiling. The wooden floors underfoot were dusty with time and disuse; a single, round window at one end was the only source of sunlight, which filtered through the chalky air in parallel strips. Both walls were lined with rows of boxes and storage crates, and the only furniture in the room was a wooden rocking chair that seemed to be missing several parts. 

Prompto fell silent. His bare feet moved without a sound across the wood of the floor, his fingers ghosting over the layers of dust that covered nearly everything in the room as he approached the window. 

Behind him, hanging back near the stairs, Noctis grew uneasy. “Iggy can pick up a bed while he’s in town today. So, you know, you’ll have somewhere to sleep. And some lamps, too.” There was no reply, and he reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “Maybe...some blankets? Or curtains. Those really help to set the mood.” 

“Thank you.” 

When Prompto turned back to face him, his eyes were swimming above a brilliant smile. A smile which, try as he might to hide it, left Noct more than a little breathless. "I've never had my own room before. It's perfect. Thank you, Noct."

Noct found he had a hard time pulling his eyes away. "Yeah, um. Don't mention it." Outside, the sound of a stagecoach approaching the farmhouse rose to greet them. Hooves kicked at the dirt as heavy wheels ground to a halt, and he heard voices from below the window. Ignis would be leaving soon, gone to the nearest village market until sundown. Noct would be alone with Prompto until then. 

A smile curled on his lips. "So. About those curtains."

* * *

 

"Are you sure he won't mind?"

"Yep. He won't even notice." Noct pushed open the door to Gladio’s bedroom, holding it open for Prompto to enter first. "It's not like he's been using them, anyway." 

"Right." The blond’s face fell noticeably as he swept his eyes around at the narrow space. He had never seen it before -- hadn't even realized Gladio had a room of his own, though of course it made perfect sense. The large, plain bed, the worn oak dresser, even the shelves lined with almost as many books as Ignis boasted: it all suited him somehow. Reflected his rough yet patient manner, his intelligence as well as his strength. The room even  _ smelled  _ like Gladio, and Prompto felt his chest tighten as he brushed his fingers over the sheets of the bed. 

_ All that was missing was Gladio himself. _

"The curtains are over here." Noct’s voice cut easily through his thoughts. Drew him away from the bed and over to the window, where a set of moth-eaten, antique drapes hung from a rod above the glass. Together, they managed to pull them down, and Prompto shook out the dust that had accumulated in the weeks of the room’s disuse. Despite the holes -- which he could easily mend -- the curtains would make a beautiful addition to his room. They were an earthen brown, the fabric inlaid with embroidery that shone like copper in the light. 

_ Or amber _ , Prompto thought, swallowing as another shadow passed over his heart. 

“You like ‘em?” 

Noct’s voice was surprisingly close. Right next to his ear, in fact, and Prompto whirled around to find those unnaturally sharp teeth grinning at him from between full lips. “The curtains, I mean.” 

The blond nodded carefully. “Y-yes. I do.” 

“Good.” Reaching forward as if to accept them from Prompto’s hands, he paused instead with his fingers hovering just below warm skin; curled his touch around the blond’s wrists when he didn’t flinch away. “You know, Iggy told me that he took you to the garden the other day. That you two...talked.”

The suddenness -- and directness -- of the statement had Prompto flushing from the tips of his ears to his freckled cheeks. Did Noctis mean the kiss? Or his selfish request to stay with them, to join their pack? Or maybe he meant both at once? Prompto couldn’t be sure, so he dropped his gaze south, somewhere in the vicinity of Noct’s chest, and frowned in apology. 

His host merely grinned wider. “No need to be shy,” he hummed, leaning in to nuzzle a tuft of blond just above Prompto’s ear. “I know he told you we don’t mind sharing.”

The hands that had been gradually closing around his wrists squeezed down then. Tightened enough to have Prompto dropping the curtains to the floor in surprise, before drawing them up and back, clasping them together just behind his head. Prompto gasped; but what he couldn’t form with words, Noctis could apparently read in the sudden pounding of his heart, and the rush of blood to the surface of his skin. 

Again, he smirked. “I want you, Prom.  _ Iggy _ wants you.” Noct’s voice was deeper, rougher than usual, and sent shivers rippling through his thin frame with every syllable. “You  _ smell _ like you want us, too. So bad I’ve barely been able to keep my hands off your body.” 

_ Oh, Six,  _ was he that easy to read? Was there something in his blood, in his eyes that only a beast could sense? Every time Noct had been near, had he been aware of Prompto’s gaze lingering on his back, or the way he recalled warm fingers touching him beneath the sheets on the first morning they’d met? Could he sense, even now, the way Prompto’s body was reacting, igniting, singing for more?

The answer, it seemed, was yes. The second Prompto parted his lips, Noctis was on them; kissing him,  _ devouring  _ him, his tongue already sliding into the cavern of his mouth to render him malleable as clay in the werewolf’s hands. Hands which, even as they kissed, drew him across the room, up and onto the bed, and then pinned him to it under his weight. 

Prompto’s lungs were burning. His mind, reeling with the aggression of Noct’s mouth on his, distantly reminded him that this was  _ Gladio’s room _ , and  _ Gladio’s bed _ that they were in, and wasn’t he supposed to feel just a little bit guilty about that? But then Noctis ground his hips down and the moan that had been building in his throat spilled out unbidden. 

Thoughts scattered as fast as his clothing as the werewolf quickly undressed him. Tunic, cotton pants, even the pressed, white drawers Ignis had lent him -- everything hit the floor forgotten, until he lay naked and panting under that animalistic violet gaze. 

Noct’s eyes raked over him in time with the fingers trailing down his torso. “Actually. There was something else Iggy told me,” he teased. “Something else you two talked about in the garden.” 

Anything Prompto could have said was swallowed up in a cry. Noctis’ fingers had found his cock, had curled around the shaft and begun to pump him in long, slow,  _ tight  _ strokes. 

“He told me you asked to be turned. That you want to be like us.” A shadow grew as Noct leaned into him, his shoulders blocking out the sunlight and his tongue flicking out to taste the excitement, the fear trickling down Prompto’s throat. “What was his answer?” 

“H-he,  _ nnh.  _ He said ‘no.’” The words left him in a rush of air. This felt dangerous; this felt  _ thrilling _ . His body was both melting and crackling with energy, and he surprised himself by spreading his legs to allow Noct’s other hand to slide down between them.

A laugh that vibrated through his entire frame. “Iggy’s afraid, you know. He sees our condition as a curse -- a punishment -- instead of a blessing. But that’s because he isn’t lycan by choice.”

The parts of Prompto’s mind still capable of registering his words piqued.  _ Iggy hadn’t wanted to become a werewolf? Did that mean Noctis had been the one to turn him? But those scars, almost like he’d been burned….  _ Questions begged for answers, yet Noctis chose that moment to drag the sharp edges of his teeth over the side of Prompto’s neck; never quite breaking the skin, though the promise,  _ the offer _ , was clear. 

“ _ I’m not like Ignis. _ ” 

_ Yes.  _ Prompto shuddered. Lifted his legs up and around Noct’s hips, giving him access to everything he wanted between them.  _ Yes.  _ Moaned as two fingers stroked over the tight rim of his opening.

And whined when they tried without hesitation to force their way inside. 

Noctis pulled his hand back. Laughed and muttered something about  _ fragile humans _ , before lifting Prompto off the mattress and into his lap instead. Wet his fingers between his lips and tried again, this time distracting Prompto with more of those breathtaking kisses.

The first finger worked its way inside him carefully. Then the second, and Noct scissored them apart until the tension there was melting away. He was pleased, of course, with the heat of it, and with how easy the conquest had been. After all, humans as beautiful as Prompto were few and far between, and the last time he’d bedded one had been decades ago, before Ignis had been turned. 

But more than the sex, more than the feeling of Prompto’s body slowly gliding down onto him, he was pleased with the blond’s  _ submission _ . Even as they fucked, Prompto seemed to beg for Noct to take control, to grip his hips and move him to suit his own pace, his own pleasure. Moaned and dragged his pink tongue over the sharp edges of Noctis’ teeth, as if daring him to bite down and seal the pact.

He didn’t. Not yet. Because as he watched, over Prompto’s pale shoulder as he rolled and bucked his hips and rode him ever more desperately into the mattress, Noct caught sight of a shadow. Dark, familiar, lingering beyond the dusty panes of the curtainless window.  _ Gladio _ . No mistaking that mane of wild hair or those amber eyes which pierced like daggers even through the glass. 

And Noctis smirked. Made sure that Gladio missed nothing as he squeezed his fingers in the mounds of Prompto’s ass and bounced him powerfully on his cock.  _ Knew _ that Gladio heard the way the blond moaned and cried his name --  _ Noct’s name _ \-- in the heavy air of the room. Watched as his face twisted in anger, hopelessness, defeat. 

All the while, Noct’s smile seemed to mock him.  _ One wolf’s trash is another wolf’s territory.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooooooooooops sorry Gladio :') You were kind of a dick though so. Yeah. 
> 
> (*me screaming at these boys* Stop hurting each other!!!!)


	7. Abandoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto has seen a werewolf transform only once before. But with the full moon approaching, he has no choice but to relive the nightmare - and this time, there are three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. While this sequel is lighter in content than the original, please remember it's still a horror story :)

With the coming of spring, the mood in the farmhouse brightened considerably, The nights grew shorter and the days gradually warmer, and Prompto found himself smiling more easily than ever.

The attic, too, began to feel more like home each day. Ignis had returned from town with a new bed for him, as promised. Though it was smaller than the one Prompto had been using, it was still every bit as comfortable. Together, the two of them had spent the next few afternoons cleaning, dusting, painting, and rearranging the room, until even Ignis was pleased with the cozy feel of it. Fresh sheets straight from the line were laid out on the mattress, a quilt was taken from the armchair downstairs, and they celebrated their hard work right there over tea and kisses.

But the more comfortable Prompto let himself become, the faster time passed without his noticing. He was approaching the end of the fourth week since the night he’d awoken, feverish and weak, in Ignis’ bed; four weeks since he’d learned that Gladio was not the only werewolf whose life he’d inadvertently gotten tangled up in. Four weeks, and in that time he’d nearly forgotten that behind the fluffy tails and charming looks, Noctis, Ignis, and Gladiolus were _monsters_.

Or, at the very least, _turned into_ monsters with the cycle of the moon. A cycle that continued regardless of the season, regardless of how content Prompto had grown in his situation -- and one which had finally come full circle once more.

The full moon was almost upon them.

On that afternoon, Ignis climbed the ladder up to the attic and gripped Prompto’s hands tight in his. “Take this,” he’d said with an edge of urgency in his voice, and pressed something into the blond’s palm. Stared at him with eyes so unlike his usual forest green -- sharper, yellowed, strained. “No matter what you hear tonight, you _must not_ leave this room. Do you understand? Promise me, Prompto.”

The blond flushed. Gripped whatever Ignis had given him until the edges of it bit into his flesh, and nodded. “I promise, Iggy. But what are --”

“Stay here. You’ll be safe.” A kiss to his forehead, then a trembling one to his lips. Prompto tried to hold Ignis there with him, leaned into his mouth as if he could tame him with nothing more than his affections - but he jerked away all too soon. The shadow that passed over his expression looked terrifyingly familiar.

“ _Stay._ ” Ignis clenched his jaw shut tight, grinding his too-sharp teeth together, before he turned and disappeared from sight.

After the hatch fell closed behind him, Prompto finally dared to uncurl his fingers. Peered down at the silver amulet that had been entrusted to him, and felt his heart twist with dread.

* * *

 

Dusk fell. Clouds moved across the sky, as fast and daunting as the wind. Up in his room, Prompto watched the last light of day set behind the distant mountains, and with it the deepening of shadows. They stretched out from the edge of the forest, across the field toward the house like a plague, swallowing up everything in their reach. Above, the moon peeked out from behind a dark cloud - full, brilliant white, and chilling Prompto to the core.

Even the roaring of the wind couldn’t drown out the noises that drifted up from the rooms below. Thumping, pacing, the occasional groan or whine. Human, and yet so unnatural at the same time - animalistic and edged with pain. Prompto tried not to listen; covered his ears with his hands and pressed himself to the corner, but still he couldn’t shut them out, not completely.

A cry that sounded vaguely like Noctis tore through the air. Then there was more shuffling, the scrape of furniture moving across hardwood, followed by shouting. Indistinct, yet belonging to two, no _three_ different voices. Prompto’s chest lurched. He thought he heard heavy footsteps approaching the stairs below his room. More shouting, snarling. Something thudded against the wall hard enough to shake the frame of the blond’s bed, and then the footsteps were lumbering away.

Two more sets of them, faster, clacking oddly against the floor (almost like knives or, Prompto swallowed, _claws_ ) in a staggered gait. Moving further and further toward the far end of the house, until at last the front door slammed shut hard and everything fell into utter quiet.

Except, of course, for the rapid beating of Prompto’s heart in his chest. _Gone_ . _They were gone._ Ignis, Noctis, _Gladio_ : they had left him, and the monsters had taken over. They’d fled outside - he could see three shadows lurching through the darkened field, drunkenly, movements awkward - and toward the barn out back. Peering over the sill of his single window, Prompto watched the three of them disappear inside for as long as he could hold his breath.

And then, emerging as if from his nightmares, Prompto heard the _howl_.

Low, building into a higher pitch before tapering off in a yawn-like whine. _Noctis._ There was no mistaking it. Especially when it was followed by twin howls in response. _Ignis and Gladio_ , answering the call of their pack leader. The next thing Prompto saw was three sets of yellow eyes glaring out from the edge of shadows; a flash of fur, jet black even in the moonlight, as the first of the werewolves tore from the barn. The others emerged soon after, their transformed bodies unrecognizable (and yet Prompto could guess at the bigger of the two). Together, all three of them ran off into the moonlit forest, howling and snarling and tearing at the underbrush with their claws.

Prompto watched out his window until long after their monstrous forms had melded with the shadows into the night. For though he could no longer see them, he could still _hear_ them - baleful howls that rose up again and again to the moon above.

The hours passed in fits of restless sleep. Prompto would wake to the sound of the wind rattling the panes of his window, and imagine, for a terrifying moment, that he could see glowing yellow eyes on the other side. But the vision would pass and his heart would stutter and beat again, and he’d fall once more into an uneasy position against the sill.

Just before dawn, they returned. Out of the shadows of the forest, two figures emerged, broad and fierce, their fur matted with something dark that Prompto could only guess was blood. The larger, lighter one was in the lead, bounding across the field on all fours as the black werewolf behind him gave chase. _Ignis_ , Prompto’s mind supplied, _and that one is Noct._ They circled the house once, snarling and snapping at each other, until at last Noctis overtook his game; pounced and rolled Ignis beneath him until the larger beast let out a whimper - in defeat, in submission - and dug his claws into the ground. As Prompto watched, both in horror and fascination, the werewolf prince mounted his lifemate, and the two rutted in the grass in a show of fangs and growls and ferocity in the dying moonlight.

When it was over, they slunk together to the barn out back, and disappeared inside. Prompto waited. And waited. Until the sun had risen above the edge of the trees, yet still there was no sign of Gladio.

* * *

 

The house was utterly silent when Prompto at last opened the hatch in the floor and descended from the attic. With no immediate sign of his friends, he wondered briefly if they had simply spent the night outside in the barn. But then he rounded the corner into the living room and found both Noct and Ignis fast asleep.

Noctis was face down on the cushions of the sofa; naked, pale skin flecked in places with dirt and mud. One leg hung off the edge of the couch, the other was tangled up in the shredded remains of a quilt, and he had both arms pillowed under his head, face buried inside them as if to shut out the light.

Somehow the look suited Noct, but Ignis was another story entirely. He was equally disrobed and draped across the armchair, looking for all the world like he’d been dumped there after a night of too much wine. Like his counterpart, he also appeared desperately in need of a bath - but the scratches that covered his face, chest, arms, even the delicate skin of his thighs (between which Prompto couldn’t help but lower his gaze) were far more numerous and colored a fiery red.

He shifted uncomfortably as Prompto entered the room.

“Ignis? Are you awake?”

There was a pause, during which a pair of fever-green, bloodshot eyes peered out from under a pale arm. Ignis shifted again - enough to close his knees together - and flicked his gaze around the room in mild surprise. “Morning already?” His voice, when he spoke, was raw, but he forced it louder as he pushed himself into a proper sitting position in the chair. “Prompto? What time is it?”

A shrug beneath his light blue sleep shirt. “I’m not sure. After eight, I think. You’ve been back for about two hours.”

“Ahh. That explains it.” Smiling dryly, Ignis ran his fingers back through his tangled mass of hair, and sighed. “Would you be a darling and put the kettle on?”

Several minutes and two cups of fresh, dark coffee later, Ignis was looking much more like, well, _Ignis._ He worked the twigs out of his hair and washed the dirt from his face with a rag Prompto brought from the bath. When he stood to dress himself, however, the blond couldn’t help but notice the way he limped with each step - nor could he forget the scene he’d witnessed the night before, of Noct’s monstrous form taking him under the moonlight. And he blushed to recall how Ignis had sounded, whining and howling with bestial lust.

If Ignis caught the flare on his cheeks, he refrained from comment. “Thank you. For the pants,” he said, smiling. “And the coffee.”

“O-of course. Um, Ignis?”

A hum in answer as the brunette moved to the sofa where Noct still lay asleep. Lifting the prince’s arms out of the way, he settled (gingerly) into the spot and replaced Noct’s head in his lap. Pale fingers stroked through black hair while he waited for Prompto to speak.

“Did, um. Did Gladio come back with you?” The blond glanced down the hall towards the front door, as if somehow by speaking his name might appear. “I just, I haven’t seen him since last night, and I was worried that, maybe….”

“I haven’t seen him either, I’m afraid.” Ignis took another long sip of his coffee. In his lap, Noctis stirred, yawned, and rolled onto his side, curling up with his face pressed to Ignis’ stomach. “Gladio wanders sometimes. He’ll find his way home eventually.”

 _Eventually?_ That answer refused to sit well with Prompto. What if Gladio _didn’t_ come home? What if he was injured, or lost, or worse - what if he had _chosen_ not to come back? The more Prompto thought about it, the possibility didn’t seem all that farfetched. And if that was the case, then….

“We have to go look for him,” he pushed, shoulders squaring in determination. He watched as Ignis’ brows jumped up, then furrowed again, the frown on his lips growing thoughtful.

“Prompto, I understand your concern. But we’re not in any condition to --”

“Then I’ll go.”

“Alone?” At the sharp tone, even Noctis stirred out of his sleep. Ignis stroked an apology back through his hair, and once more fixed his gaze on Prompto. “Please, be reasonable. How would you even track him? Wait. Give him a few days, he’ll turn up.”

Blond bangs shook into his eyes as he shook his head. “Something terrible’s happened, I can feel it. When Gladio came to our camp, it was because he’d been attacked by villagers. He’d been hurt - bad.” Prompto recalled the dark stains on the clothing Gladio had worn that day; remembered the weakness of his voice and the pain in his eyes. “Please….”

Whatever it took, he had to find him again.

“ _Mm_ , let ‘im go.” The voice - Noctis’ - was hard. The groggy prince threw a look over his shoulder that could have frozen Ignis’ mug. “He abandoned his pack. He’s as good as dead to me.”

“N-Noct?”

His jet-black tail flicked angrily against his thigh. “What? It’s true. We all knew it was coming, who’re we to stop him from running?”

Prompto’s heart began to pound. Gladio was gone? He’d really left? And Noct had just _allowed it?_

The blond was moving before either of the others could protest. Was throwing on a shawl and slipping his bare feet into his borrowed sandals, running out the door even while his mind struggled to keep up. He didn’t know where he was going - or even what he’d find - but he knew that Gladio was out there. Somewhere.

And he needed help.

 


	8. Bad Times Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's search for Gladio takes him to the nearby town of Cartanica, which is facing some problems of its own. Bloody murders in the night have left the people, and Constable Nox Fleuret, on edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon me while every chapter from here on out gets a title from CCR's "Bad Moon Rising" because a) classic song and b) I watched the American Werewolf movies lol 
> 
> Ahem. 
> 
> Just a shout out to some friends on Tumblr for advice with this chapter, specifically with how on earth to portray Gladio in a severely depressed mental state: Mcalhen, Shoob-a-doob, Jilldrawblog, Sayura21, and Hamuretu - the support alone was a huge help, guys! 
> 
> I'm on a roll with updating this, fingers crossed I can get a few more chapters out before the mojo wears off!

By stagecoach or carriage, the neighboring town of Cartanica could be reached in just a few hours time. On foot, however, it took Prompto nearly half a day.

He’d picked up a road that cut through the forest on the edge of the farmhouse. From there, he followed sign posts - sounding out the letters as Ignis had taught him - until the trees began to thin and give way to open ground. In the distance, he could make out pointed roof tops and columns of smoke rising from chimneys - sure signs of civilization at last. Prompto paused at the edge of the woods to rub the ache from his blistered feet, and then he was off again, making for the town just beyond the horizon.

* * *

 

Cartanica had once been little more than a farming village. The war, of course, had changed all that, and with the growth of the Empire more and more outposts had been transformed into essential hubs for trade. Already situated on a major road winding down from the Imperial City of Gralea, Cartanica had expanded rapidly in both size and population - and consequently in unrest. Crime increased, and with it a jailhouse, complete with cells, stocks, and a gallows, was built in the center of town. To head the project, a young man (from an affluent family with questionable loyalties) was shipped in from High Command - one Ravus Nox Fleuret - and it was under his authority that the town went about its business.

Business like the kind Prompto stumbled into the moment he passed through the gates.

“Murderer!”

“Killer!”

“Monster!”

Blue eyes flashed open wide. Prompto found himself approaching a crowd of townspeople, all gathered in front of a set of cobblestone steps in what appeared to be some sort of plaza. The area was surrounded by thatched-roof houses and buildings that leaned at perilous angles; so close together that, at least to him, it was impossible to tell where one started and the next began. In the center of the plaza was a well, large and made of stone, unlike the wooden or brick ones Prompto had seen before.

But his attention was less on the scenery around him and more on the rabble of the townsfolk rising into the chill afternoon air. _Murderer,_ someone had said. _Monster._ Prompto had a sinking feeling that his search for Gladio had led him on the right track.

A woman just in front of him raised her voice above the din. “He’s a killer! Should be hangin’ by the neck, not sittin’ in a cell!”

“That’s right! Hang the bastard, he said ‘imself he did it!”

“Ladies, gentlemen, _please._ Are we men, or are we bloodthirsty beasts?” There was a young man standing atop the steps in front of the crowd. Prompto noticed him for the first time, tall and with striking silver hair that matched the white of his coat and knee-high boots. He addressed the people with a thin smile that belied his annoyance, and pleaded with them as if speaking to a group of children. “Though the accused has confessed to his crimes, it is only right to offer him a fair trial. After all, justice is carried out in the courtroom, not at the gallows.”

His words were met with more protest and even louder complaints. Prompto watched as the silver-haired man’s expression grew haggard. He turned to a guard behind him, muttered something that couldn’t be heard above the noise of the crowd; and then he was back, waving his hands in the air to quiet the din.

“Listen, listen to me, all of you. I’ve sent to High Command to request a special investigator for this case. He’s due to arrive tomorrow, and you may take your grievances directly to him at that time.” A harsh look around at the townsfolk, who had at last fallen silent, as he continued. “Until then, go back to your homes. Lock your doors - lest you, too, fall victim to the madness that grips this town.”

Fear rippled visibly through the congregation. Some of the people nodded their agreement; others simply dispersed, the excitement of the moment having come to an end. Gradually, the plaza emptied, leaving Prompto alone at the foot of the cobblestone steps.

“U-um. Excuse me?” His voice sounded terribly small in the large space. He took a shuffling step forward - but stopped when the silver-haired man’s sharp gaze fell on him. “What were those people talking about?”

The man took in the sight of Prompto standing before him - feet swollen in worn leather sandals; body thin beneath his blue cotton clothes; hair too bright to be a local - and frowned. “A murderer has been apprehended in Cartanica, that’s all an outsider like you needs to know. We have the situation under control.”

But Prompto wrung his hands in the front of his shirt and pressed on. “Who is he? What did he do?”

Suspicion apparently getting the better of him, the man swiftly descended the steps, closing the distance between himself and the blond. “I’ve never seen you around here before. Who are you, boy?”

“Prompto, sir. I’m...no one important. Um. You mentioned something about a ‘madness.' Does it have to do with the man you captured?”

"Oh, _that_ ." He paused to rub his fingers against his temples. "No, I simply meant the stupidity of these damned country folk. At the first sign of excitement they lose their minds, call for public executions and beheadings. But that’s neither here nor there. _You_.” Once again, he lowered his glare on Prompto. “You’re asking a lot of questions. What are you hiding? Do you have information about this criminal?”

“I….” Prompto chewed his lip, eyes searching the face of this strange man. He was young, stern, but not entirely cruel; in the depths of his eyes, one brown, one violet, Prompto saw a glimmer of hope. Of curiosity. And he nodded. “Maybe. I’m looking for someone who may have come through here last night.”

“And might the _person_ you’re looking for be under the delusion that he’s some sort of shapeshifting ‘ _wolf man_ ’?”

The sharp edge of the man’s smirk matched the knife-like pain that suddenly twisted in Prompto’s gut. “Y-yes. He’s...sick. _Very_ sick. I need to see him as soon as possible. Please.”

* * *

 

Ravus Nox Fleuret, Constable of the Cartanica jailhouse, was not an unreasonable man. Tired, yes, and ill-suited for life in the countryside. But as he guided Prompto into the small building that served as the local guard barracks and down into the holding cells below, he explained more of how Gladio had come to be arrested.  

"The watchmen found him at dawn," he said, long legs carrying him so fast through the corridors that Prompto nearly had to jog to keep up. "His clothes were tattered, ripped to shred, and covered in blood. His hair looked wild - truly like a beast, if you ask me - and he was raving loudly about having ‘ _killed them, killed again._ '" Ravus sighed, long and dramatic, and paused to open a series of locks on a heavy, iron door.

"We threw him in the stocks at once, of course, thinking he was either mad, or drunk, or both. But when we went out to investigate his claims, _well_ . We found that he hadn't been lying. A family, older couple; farmers on the edge of town - dead. Torn apart like they’d been _butchered."_

"As if by a monster."

"As if by a _very dangerous man._ " Glancing over his shoulder, Ravus shot him a disapproving look. "Monsters exist in only in the hearts of madmen, boy. The locals might be swayed by fantasy and legend, but you’ll find me harder to persuade. _Men who turn into beasts, blood-sucking creatures of the night_ \- they’re children's stories, nothing more. This way."

The next hall led them past rows of dark, narrow cells, most of which were barren and empty. Yet at the end of the corridor, one cell boasted a lone occupant - legs folded, broad, tattooed shoulders hunched over his lap, dark hair falling in tangles around his face. _Gladio_. There could be no mistake.

“Well?” Ravus came to a stop an arm’s length from the cell. “Is this the man you’re looking for?”

“Yes,” Prompto answered, voice shaking. Gladio’s head hardly moved at the sound of it, but his ears twitched in recognition.

“I see. In that case, I’m going to need to ask you some questi--”

“Can I have a minute with him? Alone?”

The constable snapped his mouth shut. He took a long look at the blond standing next to him, with his round, blue eyes fixed on the murderer in the cell, and he thought he understood. He’d seen that look before. One of longing, of pain, of too many words unsaid. It reminded him of himself, and of Tenebrae, his home before this backwater town, before even the stone-lined city streets of Gralea. And he was forced to swallow down the memory of it before his voice could reflect his bitterness.

“Only a moment. Keep it brief.” Then he was moving back along the dark, narrow hall, out of sight around the corner in flurry of sleeves and silver hair.

For a long breath, Prompto didn’t move. He wasn’t even sure Gladio realized he was there, as he had yet to even lift his head to meet his gaze. Amber eyes remained fixed on the tattered fabric of his pants in his lap, and his mouth weighed down in a heavy frown, half-hidden behind a curtain of dark, tangled hair.

He was a mess; _worse_ than a mess. Prompto had seen him struggle through so much in the short time that he had known him - physical pain, anger, fear. Yet this was...something different. This was Gladio in despair, having faced his demons head on and lost. The sight alone wrenched his heart.

“Gladio, I….”

“What are you doing here?”

The first words out of his mouth since Prompto had entered the jail were harsh, biting. Sounded as though they'd been laced with sandpaper.

The blond faltered, rocking back on his heels. “I came to find you. Noct said you…. He said you left.”

“I did.”

“But--” _Why?_ The question caught in his throat. Did he really need to ask? After weeks of watching this man spiral out of control, wasn't the answer clear? Noctis had been right; they all should have seen it coming, Prompto most of all. For a moment, his voice wavered in an awkward silence - then, at last, he pushed through his hesitation and strode forward. Knelt down at the bars nearest to Gladio, and curled his fingers around cold iron. “We have to go. The people here want to hurt you. They don’t understand, they think you’re a monster.”

Amber eyes shot up at last. Dark, as if the light had gone out of them, and ridged in a fiery red, they locked on Prompto hard enough to steal the breath from his lungs. “How can you _still_ not see it? I _am_ a monster. They’re right, I deserve to die.”

 _What…?_ Prompto’s grip on the bars tightened until his knuckles went white, and his lips trembled in a mix of shock and disbelief. “You can’t mean that.”

And yet the shadows in Gladio’s sad eyes reflected his words. It explained, in a way, exactly how he had come to be in this place; why the constable had claimed he turned himself in, almost as if he’d wanted to get caught. Knowing that he’d be tried for murder, and would probably hang for it, he’d walked through those gets and begged for his own death.

“Why shouldn’t I mean it? I’ve lost everything. My family, my sanity. _You_ .” His eyes, which had lingered in sadness on the blond’s face, fell to the ground once more. “What right do I have to go on anymore? Everything I touch ends up broken, or worse - _stolen_.”

“You _idiot_!” Gladio’s skin was clammy to the touch as Prompto snaked his hand through the bars and grabbed him by the bicep. He smelled of sweat and earth and blood, but Prompto ignored that; instead tugged Gladio forward easily until his forehead was pressed to the cage and his lips just within reach. Kissed him with all the anger and fear and longing he could muster, until tears were tumbling down his cheeks and his lungs burned. Only then did Prompto release him, pulling back from that surprised, flustered expression and dragging a hand across his eyes. “I’ve been right here! Waiting! The whole time!”

“P-Prompto?”

“You said you didn’t want me anymore! How was I supposed to feel? What was I supposed to _do?_ ” Despite his best efforts to push them back, the tears kept falling. Kept streaming down his cheeks until he was forced to bury them in his hands and suck in a shuddering breath. It wasn't like he'd meant to hurt Gladio, or push him further away. But he'd been so confused, and -- “You s-said you didn’t love me anymore.”

“ _Fuck.”_ Familiar fingers wrapped around his wrist, squeezed hard enough to hurt, but Prompto didn’t pull away. He heard the hitch in Gladio’s own voice when he spoke again. “I’m sorry. For lying. I thought it’d be for the best if you weren’t around me.”

“You were wrong.”

“I’m a --”

Prompto threw himself against the bars then, desperately pulling Gladio as close against him as he could. From outside the cell, he sought out as much of his skin as he could find; his shoulders, his cheeks, his chest, clinging to every part of him as he’d longed to do for so many weeks. “You’re _not_ a monster, Gladio. I know you. You’re a good man. So please.” Thin fingers found wild, dark locks, and stroked back through them as the weight in his heart teetered on the edge. “If you love me at all, please say it. It’s all I’ve been waiting to hear.”

It was almost enough the way Gladio clung to him in return. With his hands on Prompto’s back and his lips brushing away the tears on his face, it was _almost enough._ But then, in a voice barely audible in the silence of the jail, Gladio mustered his courage, and bared his broken heart at long last. “Of course I love you, Prompto. I never stopped.”

The hell with the bars. To hell with the constable, who would likely be coming back to check on them any moment. To hell with monsters and shadows and curses - Prompto kissed Gladio as if none of that mattered. Held him as if they were back in Ezma’s caravan, the only light in each other’s world of darkness. And Gladio returned the act with equal desperation. The heaviness in his arms seemed to melt away until he was able to wrap Prompto in them and hug him tight. Until the tears that suddenly ran down his own cheeks were tinged with laughter, rough and deep against the blond’s lips.

Footsteps at the far end of the hall brought them both crashing back to the moment. Still holding tight to broad shoulders, Prompto pulled away from the kiss and smiled. Stroked his fingers over Gladio’s rough, unshaved jaw as he made up his mind right then and there. “Took you long enough, big guy. Now, let me help you get out of here, before they send someone else to take you away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Any guesses as to who our "special investigator" might be? :3)


	9. Trouble on the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new Imperial inspector arrives in Cartanica to take over the murder case - but Gladio senses in the strange man far more than meets the eye. His self-destructive rampage may have inadvertently put their entire pack in very serious danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey look, I finally finished this, one bout of writer's block late ^^;  
> Shout out to KageKit15, who guessed correctly about our lovely new inspector! Who is definitely here to F some shit up.  
> Also, AT LONG LAST! PROMPTIO SMUT (whythefuckdidthistake9chaptersplzshootme)

Dawn broke on the following morning to the sound of a coach clattering over cobblestone streets. It was a bulking thing, all sharp edges and black panels, and pulled by two horses as dark as night; Imperial make, from the look of it, and as somber as the town it rolled into.

It was to the surprise of no one who watched from half-open windows when the coach came to a halt in front of the jailhouse. After all, Gralean visitors to Cartanica were scarce even in late winter, and they certainly never arrived unannounced.  _ This coach _ , then, would be the one the constable had summoned to handle the murder case - a special investigator straight from High Command, come to deliver the heavy hand of justice to a killer. 

And indeed, the man who stepped out into the grey light of morning cut a particularly grim figure. He was tall, with broad shoulders under a thick frock coat. The black wool trailed down past his knees, as dark as the stagecoach he’d rode in on, and nearly blended with the shadows of his boots as he walked. In fact, the only splash of color in the otherwise drab ensemble came in the form of a rust-orange scarf tied at the base of the man’s throat.

Just outside of the jailhouse doors, he paused. Took a moment to adjust the lapel of his coat and then remove his top hat, tucking it instead into the crook of his left arm for safe keeping. While such etiquette was rarely observed in the hovels of the Empire’s reaches, a true man of the city never missed an opportunity to impress - and Inspector Ardyn Izunia was no exception. Back straight, chin held high, he announced his arrival with a rhythmic rap of knuckles on the door before starting inside. 

The entrance gave way to a small office room. There, Constable Nox Fleuret could be seen seated at the simple table that served as his workspace, nose buried in a book. As Ardyn drew nearer, he caught the title written in dark letters on its spine:  _ Beast Men and Other Scientific Anomalies _ . A textbook, or a collection of fairy tales? Either way, the sight of it brought a wry smile to his lips. 

“Has the countryside been so dull,” he began, leaning uninvited against the edge of the desk. “As to have you reading ghost stories for entertainment, dear Ravus?” 

That sharp brown-and-violet gaze shot up from his book, and Ravus sneered at the man before him. “ _ Izunia? _ I asked High Command to send a  _ competent  _ detective, why are you here?”

Thin lips curled into a very familiar grin. “You wound me. After all this time, I thought you’d be happy to see an old friend.” 

“ _ Friend. _ Interesting choice of words for a man who creates nothing but enemies.”

“Ravus, Ravus,  _ Ravus. _ ” Ardyn rounded the desk good-naturedly, and plucked the book from the constable’s hands. He skimmed a few pages, then dropped it onto the desk without a second thought. “It was a long ride from Gralea, and I would like some tea. No milk, extra sugar. But you remember that, of course?”

“ _ Sir _ .” Venom dripped from the single word as Ravus spoke through his teeth. “Our outpost wasn’t fitted with a kettle. Or tea cups. I suggest you finish your work here quickly and return to the luxuries of the city post haste.”

“Ah, I assure you, I have no intention to linger in this backwater hovel any longer than I’m welcome.” Locating a hook on the wall behind Ravus’ desk, Ardyn shrugged off his coat and hung it, along with his hat, over the constable’s own affects. “You have no tea, there’s mud everywhere. And you and I both know how much I hate leaving your dear sister all alone back at the Keep.” 

At that, Ravus’ body tensed, his fingers clenching around the edge of the desk until the knuckles were white. “ _ Izunia _ ,” came the low warning.

The inspector continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “But of course, you’re right. We have work to do, if you’re quite through with your bedtime stories. Tell me about this ‘killer’ of yours.” Ardyn walked as he spoke, gradually rounding the desk again to turn his back on the seething constable - and froze. There, on a bench he’d overlooked on his way in, slept a thin, young man, curled up within his nightshirt and face half-hidden behind a curtain of blond hair. Undisturbed, apparently, by either their voices or the sudden attention. “Is this...him?”

Though his lips were still drawn in a tight line, Ravus managed to unclench his fingers from the edge of the desk, shoving them into his pockets instead. “Don’t be asinine. Does that boy  _ look _ like a killer to you?” 

An appraising shrug. “One can never be too careful.”

“Well, that one’s no criminal. But he is...familiar with the suspect. I questioned him long into the night, though not much came from it. He claimed to nowhere else to stay, and it isn't safe on the roads.” 

“And the murderer?” 

“The  _ suspect _ ,” Ravus clarified, “has been detained in a cell. For the safety of himself and the citizens. I believe I wrote in my letter, but he’s under the delusion that he’s some sort of-- “

“Wolf man, yes.” Yellow eyes tore away from the sight of the blond asleep on the bench; swept instead to where the book Ravus had been reading moments before now lay closed and neglected on his workspace. When Ardyn smiled, it wasn’t friendly. “And you believe him?” 

“Of course not. He’s a raving lunatic.” From beneath the desk, Ravus produced a set of iron keys; three, to be exact, each unlocking a different door on the way to the cells below. “You ought to see for yourself,  _ Inspector _ . Perhaps the two of you will have much in common.”

Ardyn’s too-sharp smile followed him through the door and down the stairs to the corridor below. Out of sight around a corner, where neither of them noticed the figure that slipped silently from the bench to trail their footsteps.

* * *

 

 

The sound of heavy boots approaching pulled Gladio from his fitful sleep. He’d been expecting the visit, of course; Prompto had warned him someone would be coming from Gralea to investigate his case. Unfortunately, an Imperial spelled bad news no matter the outcome. He could only hope this one would be more impressionable than the stern constable. 

Against the bars of his cell, he rolled his head enough to peer down the length of the hallway: two figures approached, one lean and stiff - Ravus - the other broad, dark, sauntering. Unfamiliar. It was the second man who caught and held Gladio’s attention. Something about his gait, the way his silhouette consumed the space around him as if drinking in the shadows - he sensed danger. 

They drew nearer, and then it hit him: the  _ smell _ . A scent he almost recognized, earthy and old, yet acrid enough to have the hair on his neck standing on edge. The scent of blood, of death, of rage. He knew at once what the man was, there was no mistaking it. Yet the shock of it had his heart pounding, his mind reeling as he forced himself to his feet in the cell. How?  _ Why? _ This could be no mere coincidence.

“Well, well. This one certainly has the look of a killer, doesn’t he?” The man’s eyes flashed, sickly yellow in the light, and Gladio watched the subtle flare of his nostrils tasting the air. “And you say he was dressed like that when you found him?”

Ravus answered, sweeping his eyes over the tattered shreds of Gladio’s blood-stained trousers, the dirt and grime that melded with the tattoos over his chest. “That’s right. I believe he must have spent some time living in the forest before finding his way here. Which may help to explain his delusions of animalistic metamorphosis.” 

“ _ ‘Animalistic metamorphosis?’  _ Did you get that from one of your story books?” A fierce smirk split the man’s face, and Ravus darkened in the wake of it. Silently, the constable dropped back, allowing the other man to approach the cell - and the prisoner within - unchallenged. 

The smell hit Gladio full force. He bit back a snarl as he stared into those yellow eyes, so close now, and fought against his territorial instincts. But his tension did not go unnoticed. Nor did his white-knuckled grip on the iron bars. 

“You seem...nervous,” the man said, his voice like deceptively sweet poison dripping from his lips. His gaze traveled over Gladio from head to toe and back up again, leaving his skin prickling wherever it touched. “Smart man. Perhaps you’re not so crazed after all. Which of course means your sentencing will have to be much more severe.”

“What happened to a trial?” Gladio growled out, low and deadly. 

“Oh? I heard that only yesterday, you were shouting your crimes in the streets. Now you think you deserve the luxury of a court hearing?” When he leaned in against the bars, the man’s scent followed; gripped Gladio in its pugency and left his stomach twisting into knots. “I wonder if your sudden change of heart has anything to do with that pretty little blond upstairs?” 

It was all Gladio could do to keep from ripping the man to shreds where he stood. In that moment, senses overcome with the smell and proximity of the other werewolf, he doubted even the iron bars would have been able to hold him back. His basest instincts urged him to kill - and only the thought of Prompto, and of their plans to escape, could keep his hands in place. 

It seemed, for the moment, his silence was taken as a sign of admission, and the man continued in lieu of a proper response. "Trial or not, your fate will be the same, killer. Justice shall fall swift and unerring, I give you my word." 

The heavy tone was no doubt meant to mark the end of their ‘discussion.’ Already, the constable was turning to leave, and the fierce man with the yellow eyes made to follow. Yet just as he turned, Gladio’s fist shot out through the bars - aimed not for his face (though he relished the thought), but instead to clasp around the thick wool of his coat sleeve. Gladio held him firm and fast, long enough to return the threat with a warning of his own. "There  _ is  _ no justice for our kind."

A smirk was the only sign his words were acknowledged. The man tugged out of his grasp and vanished down the hall after Ravus; and then they were both gone, leaving Gladio to slump forward against the bars, drained of energy. His mind reeled along with his stomach. The presence of another werewolf, so close and so unexpected, had put his nerves on edge. 

Others who shared his curse existed around the world, of course, as they had for countless centuries. But they most often clustered in packs, or occasionally larger clans, and such groups were highly territorial. Their survival depended on small numbers, on the ability to remain secluded and secret - lest the hunter become the hunted. It was rare for packs, and even rarer for individuals, to stray far from their dens, or to show such open distaste and aggression towards another of their kind. There could be no mistake - this new werewolf was dangerous, and it had been Gladio’s foolish quest for death that had called him here. 

The question remained: what exactly was he after? 

Movement further down the hallway distracted Gladio from his dark thoughts. A flash of blond as Prompto peered cautiously around the corners of the alcove he’d ducked into, checking that the coast outside was clear. His footsteps were soft when he padded down the corridor and right up to Gladio’s cell, quickly withdrawing the stolen set of keys from out of his shirt. It only took two tries before he found the right one, and then the door was swinging open on its heavy hinges to herald their escape. 

Prompto threw a nervous glance back down the hall. “They’ll have heard that. We should go.” 

“Yeah.” Still, Gladio hung back just within the door of the cell. Despite the risks, the flood of the werewolf’s lingering scent caused him to hesitate.  _ That man…. _

But Prompto was waiting, shuffling anxiously in the hallway, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. After a moment, when Gladio still hadn’t moved, he was forced to make the decision for him. Reached out to grab his hand, wrapping his fingers around his larger palm, and pulled him forward out of the cell. 

Gladio’s focus shifted immediately - to the familiar touch, to their plan - and together they raced off in the opposite direction from the constable’s office. There, at the end of the hall, was a grate half-hidden under a broken bench. A grate which, as Prompto had discovered in the dead of night while Ravus slept, led to the interconnecting networks of sewage tunnels that branched out beneath the town. 

And at the center of which stood the large, stone well he’d seen in the plaza outside. It was through there they would seek their freedom. 

* * *

 

Ardyn watched everything from the window of the jailhouse. First, a commotion as the blond boy, the one who had been inexplicably absent from the office when they’d returned upstairs, appeared over the wall of the well in the plaza. He climbed out quickly -  _ did he think he went unnoticed? _ \- and whirled around to help the prisoner out after him. 

Well, perhaps the term ‘prisoner’ was a touch outdated, as he was clearly no longer  _ in _ any prison. Ardyn chuckled darkly under his breath. “I do believe you’d better inspect your building for rats, Constable,” he lilted, catching Ravus’ attention where he scoured his desk for his missing keys. “It appears they’ve been chewing holes in the walls.” 

Silver hair flashed and Ravus was at his side in an instant. Mismatched eyes stared out the window in disbelief, watched as his only two leads on the murder case escaped in broad daylight. Shock, followed quickly by anger, boiled in his chest.

" _ Six damn them, _ " he swore, and slammed his fist on the window sill hard enough to rattle the panes."I must stop them before they reach the gates!"

"No."

A hand, firm and insistent, squeezed his shoulder. Ardyn was still watching the pair, but his lips had curved into a tight grin, and his  _ eyes _ \- his eyes shone with a terrible, dangerous golden light. A light which held Ravus in place more assuredly than any words or restraints ever could. 

Sharp teeth flashed behind the inspector’s lips. "Leave them to me."

* * *

 

The road out of Cartanica led them south back to the forest. Under the cover of the trees, Gladio at last slowed their pace, and Prompto instead turned his focus to their soiled clothing. Escaping through the sewage tunnels may have been practical, but it had also left their clothes, their skin, their hair filthy and smelling foul. Before going any further, he decided, they would need to have a bath.

Nearly a decade in the service of Ezma the Witch had made Prompto an adept forager. He knew, for example, the names and properties of nearly every flower, herb, and berry in the forest. He knew which ones were fragrant and could be used in place of soap, as well as which ones could be found closest to freshwater. After only a few minutes of searching, he was able to lead them to the edge of a clear, flowing stream, and was instantly peeling off his clothes as soon as they reached the banks.

He knelt down and dipped the fabric of his shirt in the current, washing it the way he'd done so many times before. It seemed a lifetime ago now, the days of slaving away in the Romani camp. So much had changed since then - about him, and about the world. So much for the better, because now he was free, and no longer alone. 

The thought had him casting a warm look over his shoulder, expecting to see Gladio following him into the stream. But instead, to his surprise, he found the larger man had yet to move from the grassy shoreline. Neither had he made to undress, still wearing the meager remains of his pants and standing with hands clenched at his sides. Nervously, Gladio moved his gaze from the water to the nearby trees, then back to the water, eventually settling on staring at nothing at all in the space near his feet. Anywhere, it seemed, but on Prompto, whose naked body  _ should _ have proved an irresistible sight. Anywhere but those thighs pale, freckled where they were visible above the shallow water - 

\-  and laced with deep, angry scars from hips to knees. 

Red, jarring, they didn't belong there. Should  _ never _ have been put there. One glimpse of Prompto’s marred skin and the guilt that had weighed heavily on Gladio since that fateful night returned, full force, rooting him to the spot. 

"Gladio?" The blond’s voice was soft, so unlike the marks that marred his flesh. "Aren't you coming in? I can help you wash those if you like."

He gestured to the tattered pants, which clung to Gladio’s thighs in ribbons, stained with muck and dried blood. He was lucky, Prompto thought, that they still covered him at all; had the Constable gotten a look at what hid beneath them, Gladio would likely have never made it as far as a jail cell. 

It took some effort, but at last Prompto managed to coax the larger man into the stream. Gladio winced at the cold touch of the water - but Prompto soothed it away just as quickly with his hands. Dragged his fingers  _ almost  _ teasingly down thick, solid legs as he helped him step out of his pants, and made no effort to hide the way his eyes drank in the sight of the rest. After so many weeks of dreaming, of hoping, of  _ not knowing,  _ the significance of the moment was not lost on either of them.

Nor, of course, were the possibilities. 

Prompto knelt down again, though his blue gaze stayed on Gladio even as he soaked the stained fabric in the water. Roved over the intricate patterns of his tattoos, the scars that dotted his torso, down to the line of dark hair that trailed south from his naval. Hovered for a moment on the thick shaft of flesh that hung beneath, until Gladio, flushing, brought his hands together to cover himself. The blond’s smile merely deepened. 

Wordlessly, Prompto rose to his feet again, tossing the soaked pants onto the bank where his own shirt still lay drying. Under the sudden intensity of his gaze, Gladio swallowed. 

“Prom, don’t--”

A soft hand came to rest on the larger man’s hip. The deft fingers that ghosted along his skin had his jaw snapping shut, and then his breath was leaving him entirely. Prompto had found his tail - matted and caked with dirt as the fur was, and tucked nervously between his legs. It was coaxed out, small shudders of pleasure running up the length as Prompto stroked, petted, combed his fingernails from base to tip. 

“Prompto….”

“I’ve missed you.  _ All  _ of you.” 

Honey-gold eyes slid closed. Despite the panic rising in his throat, Gladio reached out to lay his own, larger hands on thin shoulders. Leaned forward into familiar warmth and buried his face in the top of those blond locks. “I’m so sorry. For everything.” 

“It’s okay, Gladio.” Prompto was still stroking his tail, but now his breath felt hot and close, puffing against the side of his neck and electrifying him from the waist down. “I already forgave you a long time ago.” 

It was hard, too hard to pull away. Too hard to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to break through him, after weeks - and decades - of fear. So Gladio did neither. He let the tears build up, let them sting at the corners of his eyes as he hugged Prompto closer; let them fall down his cheeks, streaking through the dirt as their lips found each other, a messy, desperate kiss; let the pounding of his heart carry them both back to the banks, where Prompto guided him down and settled atop him as naturally as if he'd always been there. 

Gladio’s hands found scarred thighs. Prompto’s fingers splayed out atop that solid chest, and he smiled, let his eyes slip closed as he rocked his hips down and back. Hummed aloud when he felt Gladio’s body respond to him, and shifted until he could bring their cocks together, both throbbing in tandem. 

That deep voice rumbled. Gladio let his head fall back into the grass, body rolling up instinctively into the perfect contact, as he struggled between the pleasure of it - pleasure he’d been denying himself for what felt like ages - and wanting to watch Prompto while he worked. Beautiful, radiant, skin flushed and eyes dark, those soft pink lips parted  _ just so _ in time with every breath; Gladio felt humbled by the sight, and at the same time lifted up by it. Without Prompto, he’d lost the will to go on. But  _ with  _ Prompto, he saw more than just a reason to live. 

He saw  _ hope _ . 

“Thank you,” he half-moaned as their bodies came together again. Pleasure licked up his sides, tightened his chest; pushed him up and off the ground to settle with the blond in his lap instead. He allowed his forehead to rest against Prompto’s as their panted breaths fell into sync. “Thank you...for saving me.”

“Gladio.” Trembling fingers curled around the shafts of their cocks, stroked them both harder, faster.

“I love you, Prom.” A kiss, wet and hot and pressed to the bridge of Prompto’s nose. The smaller man nuzzled against him in answer, seeking out his mouth once more, until they were swallowing down the sounds of their mounting passion. Again and again, Gladio hummed the words; let them fall like a mantra from his lips even as he laid Prompto back in the grass and wrapped his own hand atop the blond’s to bring them at last to climax. Whispered into the side of his neck as he held him close,  _ so close, after so long,  _ that he would never again walk away from this.

And when blue eyes opened to smile at him, and Prompto swore his love in return, Gladio smiled - truly smiled - for the first time in perhaps a hundred years. 


	10. Together, Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey back to the farmhouse leads Prompto to some desperate questions - and one answer that may change his perspective on werewolves for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with an update! If you missed it on Tumblr, I've established an update schedule for all of my major fic projects. Assuming I can keep focused, expect the next installment of this one on June 10th :) Thanks for reading!  
> Also, just a note that this chapter explores Ignis' backstory, as told by Gladio. If you have questions or want to know more details, feel free to leave a comment below, or hit me up on [Tumblr](http://lhugbereth.tumblr.com)!

The afternoon sun had peaked in the clear spring sky; yet beneath the canopy of trees, the forest floor was still cool, dark, peaceful.

Around Prompto’s calves, the currents of the stream flowed at a gentle pace. He cupped his hands and brought some of the cool water up to his mouth, drinking a little and using the rest to wash the dirt from his cheeks. It ran down the sides of his face, dripped onto his bare chest and trickled down, down to follow the trails of eager, red marks. _Gladio’s_ marks, made by nails and mouth alike in the heat of overdue passion.

Prompto smiled. Those very same lips were on him again now, ghosting like a memory up the delicate curve of his nape. But _un_ like a memory, they were very real, very warm, and _very distracting_.  

“It’s hard to bathe when you’re doing that,” he feigned in complaint, even as he leaned back further into Gladio’s touch.

The answering chuckle rumbled through them both. “You look good and wet to me.”

A splash of water arced through the air before Gladio could dodge, and he laughed as it caught him in the jaw. Prompto turned, not bothering to cover himself, and settled his hands on either side of his hips. “Well, I’ll have you know that -- _Mmf!_ "

His words were cut off by return fire, an impeccably timed splash right to the face. It left him soaked and sputtering as Gladio’s uproarious laughter boomed in the clearing. Prompto barely had the chance to sweep the bangs from his eyes before a second wave was inbound, this time hitting him in the chest and large enough to drench his entire upper body.

Hair dripping, mouth tightened into a thin line, he made such an amusing sight as to have Gladio nearly doubled over in mirth.

Prompto, however, wasn’t ready to admit defeat just yet. Though he was hardly as big as the werewolf, he did have the element of surprise on his side as he launched himself forward into that broad chest. Carried them both down into the water with the momentum of it, a flailing mass of limbs and howling laughter. The blond latched into tattooed shoulders, sunk his weight into Gladio, kept him pinned with pale legs wrapped around his thighs. Kissed him as the stream rushed past them both, and at last Gladio was forced to yield.

“You win, you win,” he chuckled, easily lifting Prompto up out of the water to settle in his lap. “I give.”

“Serves you right.”

“Yeah.” Warm amber eyes reflected the light carried past on the water. “What were you going to say, anyway?”

“Say?”

“Just now, after I told you how nice you look all wet.”

A gentle shade of pink rose to Prompto’s cheeks. He, too, offered a smile beneath the dripping curtain of bangs that had fallen into his face. “Oh. I was going to say that I’m glad you think so. Because I want you to want me.”

This time, it was Gladio’s turn to flush. At once, the urge to pull Prompto forward, to kiss him, make love to him, _prove to him_ how deeply his desires ran, felt overwhelming. His hands trembled with restraint against the blond’s skin, and his heartbeat quickened.

 _Soon,_ he thought, even as he traced his fingers over that freckled chest. _But not here. This needs to be done right._

To Prompto, he sighed as he brought their foreheads together. “Let’s go home. I’ll make everything up to you properly, I swear it.”

They finished bathing with renewed sense of purpose. By the time Gladio had shaken most of the scented water from his hair (he’d be needing to cut it soon, as it had grown wild over the last month of neglect), Prompto was already dressed again and waiting for him on the banks. In his hands, Gladio’s pants - or at least the damp, tattered remains of them, which did little more than hang comically from his hips when he tugged them up.

The blond laughed, and helped by untucking the werewolf’s tail from beneath the fabric. Let it drape down in a more comfortable, if oddly exposed, position. “No one will see,” Prompto assured him when he opened his mouth to protest. “We’re the only ones around for miles.”

 _Right,_ Gladio thought, casting his gaze in a dark circle at the surrounding trees. Only the sights and sounds of the forest greeted him, yet the vulnerability of having his tail out in the open left him suddenly on edge. After all, Cartanica’s constable must have realized by now they were missing; and that other one, the dangerous wolf masquerading as a lawman, would have little trouble picking up their tracks even through the woods. Their best chance would be in getting home quickly, and unseen.

“If we hurry, we can make it back before nightfall,” he suggested instead, and Prompto nodded. Adjusted his shirt in place and started off, the way he was favoring his right foot over his left only barely noticeable.

Gladio noticed, of course. How could he have missed the red, swollen state of both of his feet? They must have been getting worse, and it was no small wonder why. Prompto had _walked_ all the way to Cartanica, hadn’t he? Had lost his sandals in the muck of the sewers and still trekked on, not once complaining despite how painfully apparent the blisters were on his now-clean skin.

The werewolf’s chest grew tight. “Prom,” he called, and crossed the distance between them in two wide strides. “Get on my back.”

Freckled cheeks flushed. “W-what? Why?”

“It’s a long way to the farmhouse, and Iggy will kill me if I bring you back injured again,” he smiled, gesturing to Prompto’s swollen ankles. “Let me carry you. Please.”

With some coaxing, he managed to guide the blond’s arms around his neck, and his legs to either side of his hips. Gladio lifted him easily; locked his hands together at his back for support, and cast a grin over his shoulder. Blue eyes had gone wide, perhaps in surprise or trepidation or a combination of the two, but Gladio was confident enough for them both. He started off slowly, smiled and chatted with Prompto until he gradually felt the tension ease in his limbs.

After a while, the blond had finally relaxed enough to let his head come to rest on Gladio’s shoulder, his thoughts wandering as the conversation lulled. First to the dark tattoos that covered the skin of Gladio’s upper back, to the thick, corded muscles moving underneath. And there they stuck, until he was no longer able to stop the question that had been hovering on his lips for the better part of an hour. “Have you always been this strong?”

In response, he felt the body beneath him shrug. “Maybe? You’re not exactly heavy, y’know.”

A thoughtful hum. “But you _are_ strong. I’ve seen you do things normal people shouldn’t be able to do. And I guess I wondered if, well. If it's because of what you are? The curse, I mean."

Though Gladio didn't answer right away, he did slow his pace as he considered Prompto’s question. Strong? Him? He’d never put much thought into it, really; had only ever done what was necessary to survive. And anyway, strength was far more than just brawn - it was courage, as well.

“I’m not strong, Prom. If I was, I would have been able to protect more people.” Looking ahead into the trees, he smiled sadly. _Mother, father. Iris._ “Whatever power the curse gives me, it’s worthless if I can’t use it to help the people I love.”

“You help me.” Prompto hugged closer against his back. “You’re helping me right now.”

Gladio’s smile broadened, grew lighter again. “Can’t argue with that logic. I guess I’m not too bad for an old guy, huh?”

 _Old?_ Eyes widening in sudden curiosity, Prompto leaned forward to peer closer at Gladio’s face - at the scar over his left eye, the deep, rugged lines that framed his mouth - and considered for the first time that he’d only ever _assumed_ he was in his mid-twenties. “Gladdy, how old _are_ you?”

“Hm? Oh. Let’s see…. If you count next month, then I’m almost two-hundred and thirty-two.”

_Two-hundred…?!_

How could that even be possible?

Prompto did a mental double take. Ezma, his former owner, was undoubtedly the oldest person he’d ever met; he guessed she was maybe in her eighties or nineties (though even she’d claimed not to know for sure). To think that Gladio - _his Gladio!_ \- had lived more than twice that long, yet didn’t appear a day over twenty-three….

He must have left his jaw gaping, because suddenly Gladio’s shoulders shook with amusement. “You’re surprised? Wait till you hear how old Noct is.”

“He’s... _older_?”

“Turns five hundred this summer, to be exact. It’s a pretty special birthday, and I hear Iggy’s planning some kind of party.”

Prompto was glad for the strong arms around him, because he was beginning to feel faint. His mind reeled with the information - _five hundred?! But Noct looked the same age as him! -_ as question after question formed like roots in his mind. _Was it the curse that somehow slowed their aging? How much did werewolves grow in a single human year? Did their fur turn grey as the got older, and did they go bald like some of the men Prompto had served under Ezma’s roof? How long could they actually live? Could they even die?_

And then another sudden, jolting thought hit him as hard as if he’d been kicked in the chest.

_Was Gladio going to outlive him?_

The larger man must have noticed the shift in tension. He paused, craning his neck back just in time to catch the first tears welling up in round, blue eyes.  “Prompto?”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Gladio frowned. “What?”

“I-I asked Ignis once, and he said no, but Noct…! I-if I’m like you, we can stay together, right? Forever?” His voice was shaking, growing higher in pitch even as his arms tightened around Gladio’s chest. “If you make me a werewolf -- ”

“No, Prom. Stop.” Horror, the same kind he’d seen that day in Iggy’s eyes, fell like a shadow over Gladio’s face. “After everything you’ve been through, how could you even consider that?”

The blond bit his lip, sulking down against the shoulder he clung to. “But you said it yourself. You’re over two hundred, Noct is even older. I won’t…. I _can’t_ live that long.”

Silence fell. Gladio locked his gaze on the ground in front of him, steady even as he started moving again. Step after step to the sound of leaves crunching underfoot, he felt the weight of Prompto’s words bear down on him. A thought that had, unfortunately, crossed his mind before; an age ago, back in Ezma’s caravan where he’d first fallen in love. He’d known the dangers, and the inevitability of sorrow, yet had still been unable to fight the longing in his heart. He loved Prompto, more than he’d loved anything in centuries. But as much as the one that lived in his veins, it would also be his curse to someday watch Prompto die.

Unless, of course, he granted the blond’s wish. Turning him would be the single most selfish, irresponsible thing he could do, would ruin Prompto’s life the same way his own had been ruined the moment his sister had invited a monster into their home. And yet….

Gladio shook his head firmly. “No. I won’t do it. We’ll find another way.”

“Like what?”

He sighed. “A cure? It’s a big world, anything is possible.” They’d talked of it once before, after all, back when they’d both been more inclined to hope.

But Prompto was less convinced. He buried his face in the soft locks of Gladio’s hair, hugged closer to him as if all the answers could be found in his comforting scent. “If there is a cure, then we could both change back, you know.”

No reply came in answer to that one - maybe Gladio hadn’t even heard him - and so he settled down again with his troubled thoughts. Let the rhythmic rocking of the body beneath him distract from the panic, the fear, until the tears retreated and he was left feeling _drained_. Lids heavy, drooping, he watched the countless trees as they passed by, slowly melded into a single, abstract blur.

“Did Ignis tell you why?”

The sudden voice coaxed him back to the moment. Amber eyes were glancing back at him, almost as somber as Gladio’s tone. “Why he refused, I mean.”

“When I asked him to turn me? No, he didn’t.” Prompto yawned, rubbed at his eyes. “He just looked frightened.”

“There’s a reason for that. A _good_ one. Iggy hates the curse more than I do."

 _That_ came as a surprise. For the short time he'd known Ignis, Prompto had taken his position within the pack at face value; he was Noct’s lifemate, transformed at the full moon alongside the other two, and seemed to live a fairly normal life the other days of the month. It was easy to assume, of course, that unlike Noct, Ignis hadn't been _born_ into the curse - but neither had Prompto put much thought into how it must have happened.

"He's never spoken about it, but I've lived with the two of them long enough to piece together the story," Gladio continued, voice low. "I know he was turned because of Noct."

The blond sat up a little straighter. "You mean, Noct was the one who…?"

A shake of his head. "No, worse. It was meant to be a punishment."

"Punishment for what? Who would want to hurt Iggy?"

“Noct’s family.” Gladio kept his eyes straight ahead as he spoke, but Prompto could feel the emotion, the heavy sorrow in each and every word. “Ignis was born into servitude. His family chose to cooperate with the werewolves - the Caelum clan, to be more specific - in exchange for protection during their Great Hunts. Every full moon, the humans who had been faithful were taken to a cave and locked inside; and when dawn rose again, they would be the only survivors.

“Ignis was given to Noct as a kind of pet, or so I guess. He served him and him only, from the time he was a child until he’d grown, well, _more mature_. It’s not...uncommon for purebloods to take human partners, but it’s temporary. Especially for someone in Noct’s position.”

“Position? Like before, when you called him a ‘prince’. What does that mean?”

“The Caelums are one of the oldest - maybe _the_ oldest - werewolf clan. Some think Noct’s great ancestor was the first to receive the Lycan curse, and that all who have come after him owe their allegiance to their blood.”

Prompto frowned. “Like a god.”

“Or a king. Depends on your perspective.” They were reaching the edge of the forest; around them, the trees were thinning, and the late afternoon light was beginning to filter through the canopy overhead. The air, too, was growing crisper, encouraging Gladio to quicken his pace. “Well, as you can imagine, ignis and Noct were _not_ temporary. His father found out, there was an uproar, and Noct threatened to leave the clan. That didn’t go over well, either; Noct is an only child, and the sole heir to the Caelum legacy. Without him to carry on the bloodline, the most powerful clan in the lycan world would be ruined.”

“Wow,” Prompto sighed. “Poor Noct. And poor Iggy. They just wanted to be together.”

“Yeah, well. Fate is cruel sometimes, and so was Noct’s father. On the next full moon, he had his closest guardsmen lead the humans to the cave as usual - all except Ignis. _He_ was to be their sport for the night, set loose in the wild and hunted by...well, you’ve seen what the monsters are like. There’s no way he could have gotten far before they caught up with him.”

The blond felt his chest tighten with understanding. _The scars._ The ones that covered Iggy’s face and chest. The haunted look Prompto had seen in his eyes after a night of transformation. It suddenly made sense. At least, some of it did. “But...how did he survive?”

“How do you think?”

“Noct?”

“Found him broken and bleeding, but still alive. The bastards had bitten him, left the curse to claim his blood, or for someone to kill him out of mercy, whichever. Noct...made sure he didn’t die.” Again, Gladio’s eyes hardened on the empty space before him. “I don’t know if Iggy’s ever completely forgiven him for it. He understands, and I think he would have done the same if it had been his choice to make. But he resents the entire lycan bloodline, even centuries after he and Noctis fled into exile.”

As hard as it was to accept, the story fit into place like missing pieces of a puzzle. Prompto felt foolish, not only for having asked Ignis for something as selfish as to be turned into a beast, but also for having doubted the strength of his and Noct’s relationship. Had he really been blind enough to think that by getting close with either of them, he could have pushed them apart? If their love could survive curses and violence and exile, it would withstand the very pillars of time.

Together, forever.

“Hey, you okay?” Gladio nudged him gently, and smiled. “Don’t take it too hard. The past is the past, it can’t be undone, and Ignis is the type to keep moving forward. Just, uh...maybe don’t tell him I told you all this, yeah?”

“I won’t.” Up ahead, the trees broke at last, and familiar green fields signaled that they had nearly reached the farmhouse. Prompto felt a knot of hesitation catch in his throat. “Um. I can walk from here.”

Gladio eyed him carefully, but agreed to set him down once they reached the edge of the thick underbrush. The grass felt soft, cool beneath his feet; he wiggled his toes, tested his weight on first one foot, then the other. And though the blisters still stung, he found that the bath and the chance to rest had done wonders for them.

Prompto squeezed his fingers around Gladio’s palm, and together they crossed the final stretch of their journey.

* * *

 

“Look who came crawling back.”

Noctis sat alone on the sofa, his head turned just enough to regard the two figures that stood, frozen, in the hall at his back. One of them - Prompto - had nearly raced to embrace him in his excitement, until he’d caught sight of the stiffness of Noct’s shoulders, the piercing anger in his dark blue eyes. Even Gladio had stopped short just outside the doorway, intimidated and suddenly unsure.

“I _thought_ I smelled something overly bitter,” Ignis added as he appeared from the kitchen. His gaze fell first on Gladio, then softened when he noticed Prompto at his side. Yet he neither moved nor spoke to him. _Couldn’t,_ not while Noct was flaring the tension in the room high enough for even the blond to catch a whiff of it.

Prompto thought, in that silent, terrifying moment, that they’d returned for nothing. That Gladio had truly been cast out of the pack, was no longer welcome here, and that they’d be forced to turn tail and run again. His heart sank when he felt the strong body next to him begin to sag, slump, Gladio’s fingers falling from his grasp as if he’d been cruelly deflated. And in that moment, he knew it was too late.

At least, until Gladio moved; not to turn away, but rather to lower himself down to his bare knees. “Highness.” Though his head was bowed, his powerful, unfaltering gaze met Noct’s heartbeat for heartbeat. “I’ve been a complete idiot. Such an idiot that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and so I’m not asking for it. But if you give me a second chance, I promise to _earn_ it in time.”

Across from him, Noct slowly got to his feet. Folded his arms over his chest and favored Gladio with a scowl. “You said you were through with the pack. With us.”

At the words, Gladio flinched visibly. “I say a lot of dumb things when I’m angry. And I’ve been angry at myself for...a long time. It took making one mistake too many to see that.” He glanced at Prompto, at the scars covering his legs beneath his shirt, and sighed. “This pack - this _family_ \- is the _only_ family I have left in the world. I don’t want to screw it up anymore.”

Silence stretched for what felt like an eternity. Ignis had joined Noct at his side by the sofa, and together they judged him, speaking in hissed whispers and occasionally flicking their gazes to Prompto instead. Nervously, the blond did his best to smile in return, hoping it would swing the odds in Gladio’s favor despite having no clue what was actually going on.

Finally, it was Noct who stepped forward. Right up to stand in front of Gladio, who somehow managed to keep his head bowed and his expression stoic. Uncrossed his arms and swatted Gladio on the shoulder instead, rolling his eyes as he told him to _just get up already._ “Look. You’re _our_ family, too,” Noct pouted. “Remember that the next time you wanna run off and be a moron, okay?”

Amber eyes blinked rapidly. “Uh, yeah. Okay.”

“Good. As long as you know who’s in charge around here, then.” Prompto couldn’t be certain, but he thought he detected the faintest hint of a smirk in the corner of Noct’s mouth. The smaller werewolf nodded, and nudged his elbow playfully into Gladio’s side as he strode past them both to disappear down the hallway.

Ignis had enough tact to let him pick his jaw up off of the floor before approaching next. “Glad to have you back. I thought we’d lost you for good some time ago. And Prompto, I owe you my thanks,” he smiled, placing a warm hand on the blond’s cheek. “For bringing us together again.”

“Iggy….”

“Though I don’t suppose you’ll be needing that new bed of yours much, after all, will you?”

Chuckling to himself, he strode past to follow Noctis down the hallway; leaving both Prompto and Gladio flushed from ear to ear, and happier than ever to be home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Comments are actually fuel for writers' motivation.


	11. Laughter in the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's stolen moments of bliss with Gladio are absolutely perfect - too perfect to last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update on time! Huzzah! This chapter's got it all - smut, OT4 flirting, action, and angst. Hope you like roller coasters :')   
> (Next update is scheduled for 7/8...unless I can fit in something for Promptio Week 2018~)

 

Pale fingers gripped the wood of the headboard, the nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. Prompto gasped, dropped his head below his outstretched arms, and pushed back against the body behind him.

_ So deep. Only Gladio could feel this good inside of him.  _

“Prom.” The voice next to his ear was rough, breathless as it pulled him back to the moment. “Are you alright?” 

Though he tried to answer, his words came out in the form of a shuddering moan.  _ Too close, too far gone.  _ But Gladio was waiting, his powerful thrusts slowed to a halt in his concern, in his need to be sure. He’d been so careful with him, treating him like a fragile figure of glass since their return to the farmhouse. While his lover’s caution was understandable, it was also unnecessary.

Strong fingers stroked soothingly over his hip, and Prompto nearly lost himself right then.

“Gladio,  _ it’s so good. _ ” His words, his voice carried weight, and as he spoke them he felt the body behind him shift. “ _ Please. Don’t stop. _ ” 

A nod in understanding. Gladio kissed him, lips hot enough to draw out another gasp, and held him close as he once again began to move. Still careful, still slow, but the strength of his hips behind each thrust was hard to temper. Prompto shook each time their bodies crashed together, waves of pleasure, of thrill rippling out from the source to engulf his every nerve. His voice melded with the sounds of skin on skin, of the bed creaking beneath their weight; steady and rhythmic. 

Just as the heat was beginning to pool in Prompto’s gut (at the spot where Gladio’s cock rammed the deepest), he felt the arms around him twitch with tension. Hot lips graze over his cheek, his jaw to press against the rim of his ear instead. And when Gladio spoke, his teeth flashed sharp and dangerous next to pale skin. “ _ I’m close, Prom _ .” 

_ Me, too _ . Unable to voice the words, Prompto improvised. He reached down to uncurl Gladio’s hands from his chest, his hip, and guided one back up to grip the headboard beside him. The other - well, Gladio got the message quickly. As he buried his face in soft locks of blond, his fingers found purchase on dark wood and pulsing flesh alike; held Prompto’s cock tight, and let the movement of their bodies create the perfect friction. Chased both of their climaxes as their combined voices rose like steam into the thrumming air. 

Gladio was first. No longer able to hold back, he growled into Prompto’s neck when he came, his release powerful and so, so deep. It filled the blond’s body as well as his mind, pushed him over the edge and left him gasping as he spilled himself into his lover’s fist.  _ Perfect balance, everything as it should be _ \- and then he was crashing back down again. Gladio caught him. Their lips met, and together they tumbled onto the mattress, a tangle of sweaty, shaky limbs and languid kisses. 

After some shuffling and rearranging on Prompto’s part, he was free to stretch himself out across Gladio’s broad chest. Lazily, his fingertips traced over the dark lines of the tattoo there as he gazed up into the amber eyes that watched him in return. 

“Gladio.” 

A smile. “Prom. I love you.”

He felt a fleeting warmth against his leg. Soft, like fur - Gladio’s tail. Prompto giggled as it stroked along the curve of his calf, over the back of his knee to tickle a path up the length of his bare thigh. “It’s nice to hear you say it.”  

“I should have said it sooner.” Another kiss, this time to the top of his head. “I’ll never make that mistake again.” 

Prompto’s body still tingled with the afterglow of their sex, and his smile spread easily across his lips. Around him, Gladio’s arms felt safe, warm. They felt like  _ home,  _ something that, for a former slave like him, had always seemed a foreign concept. Prompto had no home, at least not one that he remembered. But now, here within this farmhouse, he had finally found a place to  _ belong _ . 

“Gladio, I….” 

His words were cut short by the sudden creaking of the door on its hinges. Both turned their heads to the sound, eyes going wide as a pair of spectacles carefully peeked inside the room. 

“Gentlemen,” Ignis greeted, a smile twisting the corners of his mouth. “If you’re quite through, Noct and I have been waiting to call you to dinner.” 

Those sharp green eyes fell on Gladio first, and his throat bobbed in response. “Oh. Yeah. Great, thanks.”

Prompto, in turn, did his best to subtly draw his legs closed atop the covers. “Um. Thank you, Iggy. W-we’ll be out soon.” 

“Wonderful. Chop, chop.” 

Ignis at least had enough tact to close the door politely behind him when he left. The tension dissolved into embarrassed smiles, and finally into laughter, and at last Gladio rolled Prompto onto his back beneath him for one more round of kisses before they had to get up. It was a perfect moment. One that proved  _ too perfect _ to last, as Prompto eventually coaxed them both out of bed to get dressed. Of course, they only had to break long enough to eat, he mused, watching the muscles of Gladio’s back flex and pull while he stretched. 

His clean clothes were still upstairs in the attic room, and so Prompto made due with one of Gladio’s tunics instead. It was large, sliding constantly off his thin shoulders, but a belt around his waist helped to contain most of the fabric. There were no leggings small enough to fit him, however, which meant that, at least for the duration of dinner, he would essentially have to wear a slip. 

Gladio, of course, was ready to take full advantage of the situation. Garbed in only a pair of cotton trousers himself (a perfect contrast to his blond lover), he closed the distance to press his bare chest to Prompto’s back. Kissed his hair as he slid one large, warm hand up under the hem of the shirt, and grinned. “You look sweet enough to eat,” he said, voice rumbling and just loud enough for the two of them. “ _ Again _ .”

“Dinner first,” Prompto quipped with a smile, and tilted his face back into a kiss. 

Noct and Ignis were waiting for them in the hall that served as a dining room. On the table, plates of bread rolls, sausages, fresh vegetables from the garden, and a jam made from Ignis’ strawberry patch. It looked delicious - his meals always did - but seeing the spread, Prompto was suddenly aware of just how hungry he’d become without even realizing it.

His stomach growled as he took the open seat next to Noct. “Wow, Iggy! This all looks amazing!” 

“Thank you, Prompto. I had  _ some _ help from Noctis, but I dare say he was more of a hindrance in the kitchen.” 

The werewolf prince smirked and flicked his tail playfully behind him in the chair. “Someone’s gotta taste test, right? I did my part.” As Ignis adjusted his glasses to hide his own smile, Noct turned to Prompto and pointed a fork in his direction. “At least I was more help than these two  _ rabbits _ .”

“Hey,” Gladio countered, settling down on the blond’s other side. “We were working up an appetite.”

“I’ll say.” Noct took a plate from Ignis as it was offered, but his attention never quite strayed from Prompto - or, more specifically, the side of his neck. It made eating difficult, knowing that deep blue gaze was on him, prickling his skin and turning his cheeks to glowing beets, but he did his best to ignore it. After all, he was fairly used to Noctis’ manners by now (which sometimes bordered on rude as far as humans were concerned) and knew him intimately enough to understand his expression was harmless. Curious, perhaps, and harboring more than a little mischief, but since he’d welcomed them both back into the pack Prompto knew his intentions were friendly. 

_ Mostly _ . 

“Better tell your big bad boyfriend to watch those teeth of his,” Noct teased suddenly around a mouthful of bread and meat. His voice was low, but still loud enough to carry across the table to where Gladio sat, perking up both his and Prompto’s ears in the process. “Or else that oral fixation of his is gonna leave you with bigger problems than a few marks on your neck.”

Freckled cheeks flushed crimson the second Noct touched him. Fingertips, warm and bold against his skin, stroked over the largest of the bruises (how had Prompto missed those?) as his smile grew wider. “Bet it felt good, though.”

“O-oh. Um.”

“Easy, prince.”

From Prompto’s right, Gladio set down his fork. Folded his massive arms over his chest as the corner of his mouth twitched. 

But while Noct didn’t push any further, he made a point not to back away, either. “Relax, big guy. We’re just talking. Prom’s back and you’ve made it clear he’s all yours this time. So don’t worry, I’m not planning on coming between you two.” 

Dark eyes met sky blue, and the werewolf’s teeth flashed. “Unless you guys would be into that.”

It was hard to tell which reaction was loudest - Prompto’s gulp, Gladio’s jaw hitting the table, or Ignis sputtering into his cup of tea. The four of them exchanged looks, heated ones that could have easily melted the paint right off the walls, as silence fell in the wake. Was Noct serious? Why was Gladio suddenly turning as red as Prompto felt? And did Iggy  _ really  _ need to clean his glasses at that exact moment? 

Important questions that, at least for the time being, would have to go unanswered. 

Outside of the farmhouse, in the shadows of dusk, the sudden and harrowing bray of a horse echoed across the open field. It shook the four of them back to the moment; had Noctis and Gladio jumping to their feet, instantly on alert, while Ignis scrambled for meaning. A horse meant a rider; a rider meant a visitor, and  _ that  _ was something none of them had been expecting. 

"Stay here," Gladio informed the others, putting a hand on Prompto’s shoulder in caution. "I'll check it out."

"Don't be an idiot-!" But he was already moving, ignoring Noct’s hissed warning in favor of reaching the front hall in a few strides. Ignis and the prince exchanged dark looks, and then a firm hand was holding Prompto close as they all trailed after Gladio, half-eaten meal abandoned behind. 

There was never any knock, no sounds or signs of life on the other side of the door save for the occasional chomping or stamping of the horse. From a dusty pane of glass, Gladio peered out at the porch, and at the dirt path beyond that led into the forest. “Just the animal,” he reported as Noct and the others approached. Their voices remained hushed, serious. “It’s all black. Riderless, no saddle.”

“Wild?” 

“No. It’s shod. There are tracks leading up the road.” 

Ignis crouched down next to him, taking a look for himself out of the corner of the window. “No footprints, though. I suppose he could have lost his rider in the woods….” 

“Not likely.” The sigh Gladio released had the others turning their heads. “We...may have been tracked. Prom and I, from Cartanica.”

“You think it’s the constable?” Prompto whispered as he leaned in closer to Noctis. 

A slow shake of his head. “The other one. Izunia.”

“Then we take care of him fast, before he asks any questions.” Eyes narrowed, gaze fixed on the door, Noctis bared his too-sharp teeth in a meaningful threat. 

“It isn’t that simple.” 

“Sure it is. You hold, I rip out his jugular.” 

“Noct, he isn’t human.” 

_ That  _ got the prince’s attention, as well as Prompto’s and Ignis’ in the same breath. Gladio glanced around at them, frown tight, then turned back to the fading light of the window. “He’s a lycan. Old, dangerous, possibly solitary.”

“A  _ werewolf?” _

“And you led him  _ back here?” _ Ignis was less surprised than Prompto, and understandably more furious. “ _ And  _ said nothing about this to Noctis or myself? What were you thinking?”

“I….” He knotted his brows, refusing to look back at Prompto no matter how hard the desire pulled at him. “I got distracted.” 

Beside the blond, Noctis was snarling. “This is bad. What if he’s from my dad’s clan? What if they know we’re here - what if they find me because of you?”

“Noct, I--”

At their backs, a sudden laugh sliced through the tension in the air. Not exactly malicious, but unsettling all the same as the four whipped around to find...a man, standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall as if he’d always been there. His smile was crooked, his auburn hair tugged back into a tight knot at the base of his skull, and his riding clothes appeared as if they’d seen days of travel. 

In his right hand, he held one of Ignis’ bread rolls, buttered and still steaming. He took a bite from it before addressing them all. 

“You’ll have to excuse the rudeness of my entrance. I hadn’t expected such a...warm reception at the front door, you see.” 

Prompto’s heart was pounding. Somehow, the Ardyn Izunia he’d laid eyes on back in the Cartanica prison had struck him as indifferent, almost lazy. But the man who stood before him in that moment appeared far more fierce than any lawman he’d ever known. Though his stance was relaxed, his gaze on them was dangerous and threatening. 

Yet the other three still hadn’t moved. Stood as if frozen to the spot, their noses twitching and muscles tensed.  _ Sniffing, recoiling.  _ A power struggle that only Prompto was unable to see. 

“You followed us,” Gladio growled finally, teeth flashing. “Tracked us through the woods.”

“And  _ you  _ are an escaped fugitive, but, hey, I’m not here to point fingers. I’m here for the Caelum pup.” His eyes narrowed as he spoke, focused in on Noctis whose body went even more rigid with the pressure of it. “Nice to finally meet you,  _ Your Majesty _ .” 

Ignis was guarding him in an instant. “Whoever sent you, you have no right to be here. Leave now. We will not offer a second warning.” 

“Down, boy,” came the almost playful response. “I'll be out of your fur soon. After centuries of preparation, the finale will only take a few seconds." 

The words had hardly left his lips before Ardyn was moving, reaching inside his coat to withdraw a sleek, black pistol.  _ No _ , not just black, Prompto realized with sinking horror; the handle, the barrel, all covered in silver filigree that shone in the light as he aimed the weapon directly at Noctis.

The hammer clicked into place, and in the same terrifying moment Gladio was hurtling forward. 

His heavy frame slammed into Ardyn before he had time to pull the trigger. Massive hands were on him, clenching around his wrist, his neck - Prompto couldn’t see, it was happening too quickly - and then Ardyn was lifted off the floor.

“ _ Noct, run!” _

Laughter, crazed and mirthless, as he was sent flying into the living room. 

“ _ Now! _ ” 

Gladio disappeared from the hallway, his shoulders the last thing Prompto saw before he was diving over the sofa after Ardyn. There was fighting, sounds of snarls and knuckles colliding with flesh; and in the midst of it all, Ignis’ voice next to his ear. “Go with Noct! Prompto, go!” 

_ Gladio…? _

“Are you two listening?!” Green eyes wavered into his line of vision, breaking the spell that had rooted him to the spot. “GO!” 

Then Ignis was charging into the fight as well, his teeth far too sharp, too fearsome for that beautiful face. Noct’s fingers closed tight around his wrist and he was being pulled, dragged from the house, away from Gladio, from Iggy. From everything. 

_ No. No! _

But Noctis kept going, his rage carrying them both down the steps and toward the shadows on the edge of the woods. Ardyn’s horse was nowhere in sight; the only sounds that followed them into the dark night came from the farmhouse. Growls, the snapping of wood, and finally, loud enough to frighten the crows from the trees, a lone gunshot. 


End file.
